Features | Awards

The Human Centipede Award for "We'd Do...Just About Anything to Keep You Guys Together"

By Kaylen Hann | 8 December 2010

Women & Wolf Parade










Gentle readers, it’s a tie.

While I wouldn’t bat a lash at the Wavves drummer hitching his wagon to a different star, these two bands won me over solid in 2010 and news of their “indefinite hiatus” or “undefined status” have left a definitive rift in my everlovin’ soul. When and if they hit splitsville for good, well, I won’t be the only one at CMG shedding some slow-mo, forehead-to-the-windowpane-why-is-the-world-so-goddamn-cold-and-bleak, Sofia-Coppola-film-vignette tears.

Women

When I say I love Women I’m not just saying it to, like, make Sartre jealous—I mean that shit. Deeply. From their exemplary fuzz-building and epic dialoguing guitars to their reverent, borderline-stoic composure they maintain on stage even whilst they kill it, and kill it dead…CMG’s had eyeballs on these guys for a while. But never have our fixated pupils been so dilated in bliss as with this year’s Public Strain. After having a fist-flying scuffle mid-show back in late October, canceling their tour and splitting (half going home to Calgary, half remaining in Vancouver), it was surprising to see just how many people sucked in their breath, crossed their fingers and started exploding in outright Internets Rage over these Albertans. Not that Internets Rage fixes anything, but I was pretty worked up and it brought a tear to the eye to find myself in such good, emphatic company.

Throughout the ordeal, I imagine a large fraction of what was so infuriating—besides those awful “refunded ticket” emails—was just how unexpected this potential split/break was. There was no building, no warning fights, no tensions that we could discern, even in retrospect. It just shot up into heated drama as fast and with as much warning as a Calgarian Chinook.

But maybe the unexpected nature of the Women situation is also cause for some optimism and the potential for a less bleak an outcome than one of those death sentences you see coming for a band, like a storm over Saskatchewan, long before it hits. Its unprecedented-ness ignites a teeny-tiny flame of hope in my heart.

Wolf Parade

I was immersed in the Montreal indie-metaphor-rock scene a little backwards—by way of Sunset Rubdown and even Swan Lake before any truly deep Wolf Parade appreciation sunk in. Even live experiences, I accrued a good eight Sunset Rubdown shows in two countries before I saw Wolf Parade perform even once (Pitchfork Fest ’10.)

There was a moment, after realizing I couldn’t stop hitting the “repeat” button enough to get through 2010’s Expo 86, and when even the songs I wasn’t so fond of blew up into awesome on stage— even in the uncomfortable, sweaty sea of topless drunk dudes, my appreciation of Wolf Parade blossomed to a full-fledged second honeymoon. And it was then, that I really became vulnerable to any bad news the band’s future might hold.

See, about two years ago Sunset Rubdown was playing a two-performance gig at Chicago’s Empty Bottle. During the second set, I think it was Doerksen who broke a guitar string. To keep us amused while he re-strung the guitar, a sweat-soaked Krug launched into a solo, keyboard rendition of “I’ll Believe in Anything.” While having a minor appearance on an earlier EP, I have never, at any other time, seen Krug break out Wolf Parade material (which it is by now) at a Sunset Rubdown concert. And I had been holding my breath, ever since then. I took that at the time, to be a dark omen of a Wolf Parade breakup. My suspicions were raised for the last year or so, and when Expo 86 came out, and killed it, I briefly let my breath loose. And the more I listened to it, the more I exhaled and wanted to listen to it. Those guys didn’t seem to be going anywhere—or maybe that was the first time I wanted to believe that.

When I had initial suspicions of the band taking a break, it just didn’t really bother me all that much, except for my lukewarm-at-best feelings towards Handsome Furs. I loved the hell out of Moonface and I loved the hell out of Sunset Rubdown. Down to how ripped Spencer Krug’s upper arms have been looking lately (Krug, have you been working out? You could be in a BOD commercial, and I mean that.) I am essentially on board with anything that metaphor-bloated dreamboat comes out with. And I’d like to be more into what Boeckner comes out with.

Honestly, whatever it takes for them to churn out “next level shit”—okay. That’s what it boils down to. But I have never dug my heels in more than after this past year. Congratulations you guys, you win, you just made it really difficult for me to think about Wolf Parade taking an “indefinite” breather.

All we can really do right now is point our Internets Rage in the right direction, give Women their privacy, give Boeckner and Krug their room to do Boeckner and Krug, and clutch for dear life onto our optimism. Maybe I won’t crack out the white matrix coat, matching crocs, and terrifying powerpoint presentations—but I’ll hold out a little precious optimism of my own. For now, I’ll just have to…y’know. Believe in anything.