I used to listen to
post-rock bands like “Godspeed You! Black Emperor” as a curiosity
piece, wondering what the end of the world might sound like. Now that
we’re firmly planted in what feels like the beginning of a
dystopia, seeing this band live made it all a bit too viscerally
real.
Last night the Montreal natives
emerged to a hero’s welcome, but game faces remained on. Their
aesthetic as serious artists isn’t so much consciously cultivated
as it is simply who they are.
This deeply intense,
spellbinding music is purposely designed to take you within inches of
sensory overload, but never a step further. The sound was superb.
Even though it was extremely loud, you could hear every single nuance
from each musician. I didn’t expect the drummer to sound like John
Bonham or Cozy Powell live – it was a truly massive sound.
Their music may seem
formless to the uninitiated, but these compositions are extremely
well-thought-out. The arrangements are lush and dense, and there are
time signature changes galore. One piece oscillated between 7/4 and
4/4 time. It notably took an hour for a major chord to be heard.
The eight-piece
ensemble was arranged in a semicircle, as a sort of musical
communion. There were no extravagant outfits. There was no banter
with the audience between songs. It was entirely about the music. And
the visuals.
Initially in black and
white, we saw rural landscapes, then empty buildings with no windows,
followed by scenes of the New York Stock Exchange, meant to show the
futility of money and material desires in the grand scheme of things.
The screen eventually
morphed into colour. There were fires, birds in freefall, airplanes
in freefall. Then an amusement park with a Ferris wheel as a time
lapse, and water being sprayed at what seemed like the last
protesters. It was all so powerful.
I was admittedly ready
to bail after a half hour, but I’m ever so glad I persevered. It
was post-apocalyptic. It was bleak. But it was art, and it was
beautiful. This is why this unit is seen as one of the most relevant
bands in the world.
The opening act was
“BIG|BRAVE,” who were also excellent. At the end of their set, the singer pointed out how deeply influential the
main act has been on her and her band. There were a couple notable
differences between the two collectives – the guitarist playing a
violin bow à la Jimmy Page, and the fact that they were largely a
vocal band. If “Godspeed You! Black Emperor” is the soundtrack to
the end of the world, then BIG|BRAVE is the version of it where you
know there wasn’t an end to the patriarchy first.
There's a classic moment in an early episode of The Simpsons where a young Homer and Marge are depicted in 1980 walking out of The Empire Strikes Back, and Homer ruins the film for the people waiting in line next to see it:
A middle-aged man sitting a few rows over from me at last night's David Gilmour concert at Madison Square Garden was busy doing the musical equivalent of that just before the show began. It's easy to go to setlist.fm to see what songs our favourite artists are playing each night. But not all of us want that element of surprise to be taken away, the same way we don't want to know who Luke Skywalker's father is until we've actually seen the film. Alas, this is life in 2024. But one thing the internet cannot do is determine what those songs are going to make you feel when they are performed.
"I'm Guy Pratt and I'll be your bassist this evening."
Gilmour's long-time bandmate came out to be MC with the house lights still on to remind the audience not to use the flashlights on their phones, both because David finds them distracting and because the band wants the audience to be fully present for the next few hours of their lives. The plea was not misspent, as people were indeed respectful of his wish.
When most musical artists tour after age 50, they tend to become nostalgia shows. And there's nothing wrong with that, as nostalgia is a very powerful force, especially in 2024 when people are seeking any and all comforts as they navigate this current version of life. But this show was the furthest thing from riding on the past. At age 78, David Gilmour is as current as they come. The strength of the show was his new album, not the old - a rarity for any artist, never mind one well into his eighth decade.
The tour programme from Gilmour's previous jaunt for Rattle That Lock described his music as "panoramic soundscapes." But that's far from everything he does. He is also a master of melancholy, and in the best possible of ways. It's a cornerstone of his artistry, but he never speaks about it. He lets the music do the talking.
Within minutes, my primary thoughts were that this was easily the best sound I'd ever heard at an arena show - every note from the ten people on stage was crystal clear in every instant. And it was also the best lighting I'd ever seen. In the intro to "Sorrow," the sea of green lights were a thing of utter beauty, perfectly complementing the aural assault of Gilmour's unaccompanied meaty sound. Normally I prefer theatres to arenas for the intimacy, but the lighting really was more effective in this setting than at the Royal Albert Hall where I saw him in 2015. I've been lucky enough to see David Gilmour at two of the most legendary venues in the world, and they were very different experiences. I remember walking out of that show thinking it was a beautiful experience. This time it was transcendent.
The intro to "Sorrow."
The beginning of his solo in "Fat Old Sun" was the first of many such moments - that was the first time his face was seen on the giant circular video screen, which had been adorned with a wide array of visuals, including the same animations for "Time" that were used by Pink Floyd 50 years ago. The pastoral song from 1970's Atom Heart Mother written in his youth hit a bit differently when accompanied by the image of a much older but no less proficient Gilmour. He was also in excellent voice throughout.
One notable addition to Gilmour's band this time around is his daughter Romany, who was warmly received by the crowd. She took the lead vocal on the cover of the Montgolfier Brothers' "Between Two Points," like on the Luck and Strange album.
About three quarters the way through, the crew brought out candles for a mini-set around the piano, consisting of a new arrangement of the iconic "The Great Gig in the Sky" and "A Boat Lies Waiting" from Rattle That Lock. You could hear a pin drop. This is common at theatre shows, but not in arenas. By this point, 20,000 people were completely transfixed.
"...chained forever to a world that's departed."
A family in front of me was on their phones for half the night, which to me is absolutely bizarre considering the money concerts cost nowadays. The old world and the new world collide. But even they were completely at attention by this point in the show, which goes to demonstrate what a master Gilmour is at what he does.
But to me, the climax of the show was the last song of the first set. 1994's The Division Bell was well-represented on this tour, with four songs being played. "High Hopes" has been a mainstay in Gilmour's shows ever since, and this time he took it a step further. The song is all about the loss of childhood innocence, and on the video screen there were giant white balls seen in an empty field. And then as he launched into the final solo on his lap steel, about a dozen of these balls were released into the audience to play with, so that thousands of people could be kids again, if only for a few minutes.
If you had even the slightest awareness of your mortality and the passage of time, this meaningful gesture from an artist in his autumn years should not have been lost on you. This is without question the most beautiful thing I've ever experienced at a concert. There are 300,000 words in the English language, and none can begin to do justice to how deeply emotive and impactful that moment was. "Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent," once said Victor Hugo. And moments like this are why we have music. Sometimes its purpose is to convey things about the human experience where words are not enough. And in this case, it's a section of a song with no words at all. I wept uncontrollably for five minutes straight.
The fun begins at 5:05.
Roger Waters is also a master of building to those special climaxes, but David Gilmour edges him out, if even slightly, on the grounds of his current material carrying the weight of the show. Finishing the second set with the last three songs from Luck and Strange was Gilmour's way of displaying his confidence in his new material. The stage went dark as the final notes of "Scattered" rang out into the ether, and only Gilmour himself was left on stage to soak in the standing ovation. The supporting players were obviously integral to the preceding two plus hours, but this moment for this quietly humble man to absorb the world's appreciation for his nearly 60-year career was absolutely necessary.
After a searing encore of "Comfortably Numb" the band left the stage to another ovation, and I listened as people around me were dumbfounded at what they had just experienced for the last three hours.
People came from far and wide for this. I took a train from Montreal, and the fellow beside me flew in from Dallas to experience this show with his brother from Virginia. Gilmour tours about once per decade. People know what time it is. This was the fourth of five nights at the Garden, and tonight is last night. It may well turn out to be not only the final concert David Gilmour will play, but quite possibly the final concert anyone from Pink Floyd will play.
My jacket under my seat was drenched from beer that the person behind me spilled on it at some point. I guess the old world isn't too far in the rearview mirror.
It didn't matter. All I could think of was the fact that this is the single greatest concert I've ever been to.
People left the arena only to be greeted by the sounds of competing soundtracks of David Gilmour's music playing from cars and taxis on West 33rd St. I spoke with strangers and didn't want the experience to end. Everyone agreed that we were beyond privileged to have been a part of it.
"Say isn’t it true that it’s all through in a single spark between two eternities."
Maybe it is. And nights like this are the ones that will stand out amongst the rest.
Watching this autumn’s quality playoff baseball provided a moment of clarity for me yesterday: the Blue Jays are not remotely playing at this level. They have Guerrero, and maybe Bowden Francis as of late – that’s about it. Their bullpen is almost non-existent (they blew about 25 late-inning leads this year), and their bats are inconsistent at best. The lineup is now mostly triple-A players, almost completely unrecognizable from two years ago.
I love the game of baseball, but what’s happening in Toronto isn’t baseball – it’s a business. Ever since Alex Anthopoulos was forced out of the organization at the end of the 2015 season, the Toronto Blue Jays have morphed into a corporate entity under Mark Shapiro and Ross Atkins. It is painfully obvious that these American businessmen in the front office have zero desire to create a winning team in Toronto, because the current status quo is profitable enough. There’s little to distinguish them from the Maple Leafs now in this respect.
The moment when it all clicked for me? Of all people, Manny Machado took on the leadership role in the Padres’ dugout last night to keep his team’s heads in the game as Dodger fans were throwing things onto the field. It was truly a beautiful moment of camaraderie. But it also carried an element of symbolism, that even a notoriously dirty player like him is redeemable if there is upper management that is willing to produce a winning team. And it was accompanied by a sinking feeling that it was the kind of scene a major Toronto sports franchise may never witness again. If the current office mentality continues unabated, 2016 will be the last time the Blue Jays ever make a serious run for the AL pennant.
(Photo by K.C. Alfred / The San Diego Union-Tribune/SCNG)
The biggest highlight of the Blue Jays’ 2024 season was the renovations on their ballpark, the costs of which are largely being downloaded onto season ticket holders. The price tag for some seats has risen to over $100Know, which is absolutely bananas. Decent seats have become unaffordable for most, and the tabs will mostly be picked up by corporations. Just like the Leafs and Raptors, most loyal fans will be either in the 500 level or stuck at home watching the games on TV where they will soon see a lot of empty seats on that screen, because worker bees who are offered free tickets by their bosses by and large do not want to go see a perpetually losing team. The “ride or die” types have been priced out.
Let’s not forget that in 2022, it was upper management that pulled Ryan Gausman during the second wild card game, not manager John Schneider, which is what led to the spectacular collapse of the Jays’ season in a span of three innings. The same thing happened a year later with Jose Berrios, after which play-by-play man Dan Shulman openly stated that pitchers walked into Schneider’s office saying how they knew it wasn’t his decision.
Can we go so far to declare that Shatkins' mandate seems to be ensuring Canada never produces a winning baseball team again? All the signs seem to point in that direction.
One thing's clear – in the last decade, Toronto has become little more than a soulless playground for the rich, and the current state of the Blue Jays is a perfect example to illustrate this.
"I always felt that the privilege came with the responsibility to keep this daily half-hour a safe place for family fun. No social issues. No politics. Nothing embarrassing, I hope. Just a game."
Pat Sajak gave a speech at the end of his final episode of Wheel of Fortune, which aired last night.
It sounds classy and even benevolent on the surface, but let's unpack this.
He's boasting about something being a "safe place" where talk about social issues doesn't exist.
I didn't even need to look up his political affiliation, because it's abundantly clear which players from which team would typically go out of their way to state that social issues don't matter even for one minute of the day. Obviously he's a Republican.
And not a nonchalant innocent bystander with whom we can respectfully disagree and call it a day, as his cute speech would suggest. It is no secret that he spends his riches on funding conservative speaking events on American college campuses, serves on the board of a publishing house for books by Rush Limbaugh and Ann Coulter, and is a regular writer for far right outlets where he is an outspoken climate denier and has stated in no uncertain terms that public employees should not be allowed to vote on issues that directly affect their lives.
Guess which demographic tends to see the least effects from social issues in the country? Wealthy straight white males like him. And guess who else shares his demographics? The majority of Republicans in Congress, who repeatedly vote against any legislation that will curb the effects of those very social issues (198 of 267 GOP members of Congress are straight white males, a less than subtly disproportionate representation compared to them comprising about a quarter of the overall population). So to therefore use his platform in front of millions of people, virtually all of whom will never even be able to conceive of his wealth and privilege, to effectively tell the country that he doesn't care about the fact that they'll never have his wealth or privilege while he actively does all he can to ensure that as many people as possible will never be able to attain his wealth or privilege, takes a special kind of chutzpah.
Bigger picture: these social issues he's minimizing are literally the reason why game shows need to exist in the first place. People wouldn't be fighting for spots to win a direly needed $10K if they didn't live in a country that ranks near the bottom in the developed world for social mobility. Earlier in that final episode he even joked about the need to pay for surgery, in a country where one in three viewers of his show has medical debt. That's a hundred million people - one of whom will never be him or anyone in his bloodline.
Wheel of Fortune commands top prime time advertising revenue, and has long been a magnet for political candidates and super PACs. Needless to say, much of that prize money does not come from the most wholesome and honourable of places. For Sajak to claim that his show is not a place for politics is disingenuous at best. That place is right in his pocket.
"Safe place" has become a term for those who ARE affected by social issues, and the fact that he appropriated that term to make himself look virtuous for ignoring the very social issues he has actively helped perpetuate is beyond reprehensible.
In short: inequality is precisely what employed Pat Sajak for 43 years and made him a 1%er. He's worth about $65 million and has less people skills than a Walmart greeter. He is an embodiment of the transfer of wealth from the poor to the rich. And his game show that attracts huge sums of money from political advertising is designed to make him look like a nice guy for appearing to give a little bit of it back.
Reality check: it's not just a game.
Thanks for the memories, Pat. But that parting gift of yours left more than a bit of a sour taste in my mouth. You'd have been much better off saying nothing. What you've actually done is gotten people like me to spend 30 seconds on Google and find out how much of an incorrigible two-faced charlatan you are.
Here he is pictured with anti-Semitic conspiracy theorist congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene.
Smiling next to someone who openly hates J_WS isn't a great look. Can I buy a vowel?
