And right now, Jon Wurster wants/is tolerating the request I put in to solve your problems!

Like Mike Doughty and Bob Nastanovich from Pavement before him, Jon Wurster is willing to take your questions and answer them in more than the 140 characters he normally sticks with on Twitter. So you know what that means?

Have a hipster emergency? Need to know how to act when someone references an album you don’t know? Want to know what to do about a weird neighbour? Something amiss in your previously groovy relationship? Need some suggestions about how to improve your life? Just wanna ask him a nerdy music thing?

ASK JON!

You’ve got one week to get your questions in. You may do so via the following ways:

• Leave a comment below
• Tweet @Backstagerider with the hashtag #AskJon
• mikala@backstagerider.com
• Send me a message via Facebook.com/backstagerider with ASK JON somewhere in it
• Tape your question to a very travel-savvy, GPS-enabled Tarsier

You have until May 18 to get yer questions in. I’ll collate the best ones, send to Jon and post the answers afterwards. STAY TUNED!

Bringing you fine advice columnists since last year, I am, the BackstageRider. You’re welcome! \m/

Toothpick in mouth, chamomile tea in hand (a box of which was a gift from me), Chicago’s Willis Earl Beal took to the Biltmore Cabaret stage alone, clutching two books: The Little Book of Zen and a Bukowksi poetry collection. He read from Zen then chucked it over his head.

He read “The Harder You Try” from Chuck and we chuckled over the line “just being able to scratch yourself and be nonchalant is victory”. He welcomed us to the “Church of Willis Earl Beal”. He’s starting calling his gigs that, he said, because he’s a raging “egomaniac.”

Then he took hold of a whiskey and took off into the microphone.

“I’VE GOT A BONE BLEACHED STICK WITH TERMITE HOLES…” came this old-timey soul belter of a voice and the club went absolutely silent (until the drunkards arrived stage right).

His mouth opened wide during “Wavering Lines” and he spilled the drink in his hand. When he was done, I kid you not, the room collectively exhaled, and people shook their heads. The voice had been that powerful.

But this is the thing; Beal isn’t just a soul singer. Not in the smooth Gaye way. Not in the Northern Soul Mayfield way. Not in the theatrical Little Richards way.  Not just in the great godly gospel way (though there’s more of this here than anything).

There’s something otherworldly going on here. Wearing his kinda-now-typical skull shirt, shades and, inexplicably, an oversized leather winter glove on his right hand – Beal is quirky. He’s a portrait artist – used to be obsessed with drawing Sarah Michelle Gellar – and if you write to him, he will send you a drawing. It used to also be that you could call him and he’d sing you a song. Today, his voicemail is apologetic: he has had too many calls, but he still loves us. The phone songs are on hold, as it were.

He’s written a small chapbook, called the Principles of a Protagonist, that comes photocopied inside his vinyl and CDs. It is a fascinating tale of how anyone can achieve anything. Case in point.

Live, he picks at his flat guitar on his lap – “how do you play this thing?” he asks tonight, and he’s not kidding. He’s recorded his debut on “bad equipment. I like it this way, I hope you do too”. His back up band is a reel-to-reel.

His cloak is NOBODY – his drawing of an eerie xxxxs-for-eyes happy face.  He stands on a chair and belts. He uses his belt on a chair.

“Cosmic Queries” sounds eerie and thick in the dry ice tonight. “White Noise” is about “redemption.” “Sambo Joe and the Rainbow” is immense. It’s larger than the room and possibly most of East Vancouver.

But the there’s something else. The reigning King of Lo-Fi, Lou Barlow, calls him the “new king of lo-fi sweetness”.

“He’s heard of me?” asks Beal later. “He likes my stuff?”

He doesn’t know who Lou Barlow is, “I don’t know many people,” he says, and you believe him because anybody who spents more time in libraries instead of Facebook can be trusted. When I tell him Barlow’s a fan, the man standing next to Beal nods reverently. “I’m a fan of Barlow’s,” that man says. “That’s high praise.” I tell Beal I will send him some Barlow. They are kinda brothers in music, in a way.

So, sweetness.

This isn’t just a charismatic young man relying on the voice and well-timed showbiz jiggery pokery (the aesthetics of the reel-to-reel, the belt and blanket) on stage. There’s vulnerability in among the tape hiss and bad equipment on his album. “Evening’s Kiss” is simply so beautiful. In “Always My Lover,” he cries. ACTUALLY cries. On stage, he’s exhausted. He’s played for just over an hour and is spent. “Why these shows have to be so goddamn long?,” he jokes. It’s kind of been visceral.

Acousmatic Sorcery, his debut, is a weird thing. It’s got a bit of a voodoo, some absolutely stunning moments, and some strange plinking noises. Most people who now see Beal live, come away loving him. They might not love the album, though. And Beal wants you to know that. “This isn’t like that was,” he says to me, nodding at the vinyl I’m holding and gesturing towards the stage. “Oh, I know. It’s awkward,” I say. “And that’s what I like.” He puts down his Sharpie – there’s a queue wanting to meet him – and shakes my hand.

And the tea? Oh, I knew about the tea from the time he plastered Chicago in 2009 with flyers. It had a drawing of himself, some words and was advertising for a soulmate. He said he liked “oatmeal, trainstations, nighttime and chamomile tea”. “Did you see,  I had the tea!” he said to me, after. I saw.

Whatever this strange Beal is, he’s also a fully-fledged superstar. You just don’t know it yet.

There’s a line in that Bukowski poem, “If there is a light, it will find you.” Lordy, it has found Beal. \m/

Not big on small talk, the rather austere Hayley Mary of Sydney, AUS’s Jezabels stalked the stage of the venue called Venue in Vancouver, on May 1, clutching her mic whilst belting out indie pop at rocktacular decibels.

Backed by able drummer Nik Kaloper – whose monster thuds lend the Jezabels a more meaty sound – Sam Lockwood on guitar (who offers a touch o’ goth) and Heather Shannon on piano, Mary and Co. ran through tracks from debut full-lengther Prisoner (“Endless Summer”, “Hurt Me” and “Rosebud” for example) as well as snatches from earlier EPs including Dark Storm. Though musically their songs end up sounding a bit samey, it’s Mary’s voice, a sort of Florence-meets-Siouxsie-meets-Pat Benetar thing, that escalates matters. Warm them all up a bit, encourage Mary to peer out from her floppy fringe and make eye contact,  and the Jezabels could be that much better than good. \m/

Ah hell, sod it.

Really, all it is is the music of French 80s addict Anthony Gonzalez, aka M83. And it’s the kind of thing that brought joy to a sold-out theatre in Vancouver on a Friday night, causing drunken dudes to bro-hug and dance together, underdressed, backcombed downtown girls to sway and hipsters to punch the sky with happy.

The start included that furry, penis-nosed creature from the Hurry Up We’re Dreaming! album taking the stage, followed by the band segueing into – natch – “Intro” as longtime girl-voice Morgan Kibby stood in for Zola Jesus.  ”Graveyard Girl” came third, “Midnight City” later with all the laser-shot punctuation and a SURPRISE SAX SOLO! making everyone grin. “We Own the Sky” sounded thick and heady,  ”Skin of the Night”, delicate. And the bestest for nerds? Their remix of Daft Punk’s “Fall” from the Tron: Legacy soundtrack flooding into “This Bright Flash”? Oh yes…

Drummer Loïc Maurin once again held full court behind neon posts, whilst young guitarist Jordan Lawlor bounced around the stage. Kibby provided the requisite ethereal, and in the middle, le man, le myth, le LEGENDE, Anthony Gonzalez held court – sometimes on a Simian Mobile Disco-sized analog keyboard set up, sometimes on bass, sometimes facing Loïc with his hands clasped.

Ultimately, it was just a good, brightly coloured night of lights and layers. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go unwrap my limited edition No. 1028 “dandruff white” vinyl version of The Breakfast Club soundtrack that I got on Record Store Day, and think about unicorns. \m/

She’s a great remixer, and a prolific writer, spitting out home-grown EPs faster than you can say “So Fast, So Maybe”, one of the good ones live, along with “Messin With My Head” and “No, duh.” And as for indie cred? Best tracks at the Media Club are “We Hate Everyone” (a collab she did with Liam from The Prodigy), “Less Than Zero” (featuring a The XX sample) and “Stop, Focus”, (which has us, uh headbanging to bits of The Decemberists’ “The Wanting Comes in Waves/Repaid.”) See what I mean?  Which brings us to…

2. …the fact that she’s bridged the Great Crossover. K.Flay’s got b-boy fanboys, hipsters, headbangers, good girls and hardcore rappers all drooling for her. No easy feat, it’s kind of what Die Antwoord’s managed and K is winning them wit and skill, not rats and ridiculous. 

3. She’s got an amazing drummer out with her. Songs seem enormous live as Nick Suhr bashes out on drums and pads, earphone in so he can catch the loop. He’s an absolute pleasure to watch, and fills out the room beyond Flay’s Macbook. Astounding.

4. She’s goofy. On tour, she poses for pictures against signs of streetnames that she thinks are dirty. Bush Ave, Prince Albert St, etc. Can’t wait till she tours Dildo, Newfoundland.

5. She’s nice. Whether’s she’s sweat-ily agreeing to throw us the rockhands while at SXSW or taking time to receive every cup of gush that the young b-boys throw on her after the show, Flay proves that you don’t have to be a dickhead to be a rapper.

6. She experiments, just gets it out there. She’s done a ton of EPs, a ton of remixes and a ton of really good videos. ONE EVEN HAS PUPPETS IN EM! Check ‘em all here.

7. She’s genuine. A track loop fucks up on stage, she just laughs, shrugs, calls it like she sees it. Her computer is giving her a hard time. Nae bother. She starts over again. Similarly…

8. She’s no bullshit. No fronting. No cheesy gold chains or ghetto “chic”. She’s just…a cool kid, with nice trainers and a Nixon watch, a dual degree in sociology and psychology from Stanford, who likes the Joy Formidable….and can rap at Warp Factor 11.

9. She works her ass off and is super high energy. Bounces high off her red kicks, headbangs, drums along with Suhr, lunges into the crowd. There might have been only 50 people in the crowd tonight but she performed as if there was 500. That’s style.

10. She does this thing with her tongue. You know how they say “spittin’ out rhymes”? K spends most of her time rapping with her tongue sandwiched between her upper and lower teeth, as if it’s she’s biting down on it. It’s kind of totally adorable and impossible to miss.

11. This. Stick with it past the “La, la, la, las…” \m/

Was supposed to be at Justice. Wasn’t supposed to be riddled with the Black Death on the sofa. What kind of glow-stick-waving-youth-of-today begs out of a mega-dance show in Vancouver’s shittiest tin-can hangar so she can try to get over Germ Warfare Version 1,867 (this year)?

Nevermind. The BSR wants to bring you JUSTICE, AND SO WE SHALL BRING YOU JUSTICE via the lens of the magical photo-snapper Ashley Tanasiychuk (Format No Auto).

So how was it? I imagine it was bloody mental. Today, citing “irreperable damange” to his hearing, Mike Usinger at the Georgia Straight’s assessment was thus: “Do you know why the floor of the PNE Forum is a hot and sticky mess right now? If you guessed the sweat of the heaving dance floor, that’s partly right. It’s mostly though because Justice just melted the fucking brains of everyone in the place with a devastating ‘Phantom.’”

But not everyone was melted. Some were GLOWING. A tweet from Trevor at promoters’ Timbre Concerts err, highlighted this fact: “Someone send me a pic of the dude in the glow-in-the-dark fur coat. Some raver minks died for that to be so awesome.” (He went one better, here, by offering video. I can’t believe I missed THAT FUR COAT!).

Sounds fun, and deafening, Justice. But not as fun as being at home sick watching the 100th episode of Futurama. Yeah. Right. \m/

“Never thought I’d see you here,” my friend Steven said, as I signed in to get my passes for Our Lady Peace and The Pack AD at the Commodore Ballroom in Vancouver on April 19.

“Aren’t Our Lady Peace a bit, uh, MAINSTREAM for you?

“Oh yeah! Totally!” I proclaim gleefully. See, OLP is listed in the great Canon of 90s Radio-Friendly Canadiana, a territory I shouldn’t have, but actually traversed, on occasion, growing up in Toronto.

And me and OLP go way back. Why? Because they were always really good rock band. And how far back? WAY BACK. To ‘92, when they formed. When Mike Turner, their first guitarist, used to drive me to the Much Music Video Awards aftershow parties. When first bassist Chris Eacrett stood on stage,  sullenly. When singer Raine Maida wore baseball caps. When drummer Jeremy Taggart looked like DJ Teen Daze instead of  a member of Black Wizard. When I was in the crowd for the filming of their ‘94 video “Naveed” (you can’t see me, but Raine did call out my name from the stage back then. #son’yeah)

“…Plus,” I continued, “I go where my girls in the Pack AD go.” And that, that part is substantially true. My mates have been on tour for yonks and it’s time for a catchup.  A double bill of Canadian rock old and new? I shall take it!  Then I skipped inside.

Action shot of Maya Miller and Becky Black hammering out the dirty rock that they’re so ruddy good at. OLP fans young and old look slightly confused by the  grit of the duo’s music, but nod along appreciatively.  Hey, mainstream radio, this is a band you SHOULD be playing alla time. Need I remind you that newish album Unpersons is available for your playlists? Cancon and on!

“Well, I drank two bottles of wine. And then I threw up. And felt just fine. I was only thinking of you. And then I thought of you. And then I forgot again,” Becky belts during “Rid of Me” and I swoon. They’re so fucking rock. “BC is on Fire” is weighted by Maya’s thundering drums, “Haunt You” sounds aces, and “Deer” elicits sighs of headbanging.

YARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH BECKY! RAWK! *throws the horns*

Soon it’s time for OLP. Squeals abound in the sold-out Commodore Ballroom. There’s a new album out, Curve, and the first two tracks tonight are the first two from here. “Innocent” and “Fire in the Henhouse” flood over the crowd. There’s love in the room, even as Raine keeps his typical straightface.

Steve Mazur belts out over the “Monkey Brains” and OLP classic “Superman”. Not pictured: Mazur’s insanely awesome pedal/effects rig.

Gregg Allman. Sorry, drummer Jeremy Taggart.

Michael Raine Maida, former criminology student.

\

I sneak upstairs/backstage to take in the show from above. There’s some loops in the curtains and a few of us peer through. OLP really are sounding that good…I’d kinda forgotten that fact.

I tap on the Pack AD’s green room door to find Becky and Maya filling goody bags. It’s the second-last show of the tour with OLP, and rather than schlep stuff over the border, they’re putting together fun gifts for the band. Included: glow sticks, candy-filled golf clubs (most of the band love to putt), giant sunglasses. “We kinda do this for all the bands we tour with,” says Maya. AWWWWWW.

During “Thief”, the band (Jeremy, keyboardist Robin and Duncan, above) leave Raine & Steve on stage to play alone, and nip backstage for a breather. They walk past me as I’m peering over the curtains. Duncan’s all smiles upstairs. After the show, he insists we’ve met before. We have, butabout 15 years ago.  ”I was in the ‘Naveed’ video,” I say. “No shit!” he grins. “And I pretty much remember the day you joined the band.” He beams. Duncan’s good people. And he heads back down and on stage. “Starseed” and “Clumsy” begin…

…while we three sneak the gift bags into OLP’s dressing room. SHHH surprise! “We’re such dorks,” says Becky, “Nah, yer adorkable,” I say, and we line up the fun. “Can I steal another beer?” I ask Becky as I finish up a piece of their pizza as well. “Sure, go on, you aren’t called the Backstage Rider for nothing…”

Meanwhile, during the encore – “Fast as You Can”, “Anybody Home”, and “Permanent” (a track Madia wrote with American Idol David Cook) – we’re in total singalong territory. They wrap with “4am” and leave the stage, and head back to find presents…

…here Jeremy, Becky and Robin ham around in slightly oversized glasses. Someone’s got a glow stick. “I feel like I’m drunk” Robin exclaims as she wears the shades around. Everyone’s in really good spirits. How can you not be with a candy-filled golf club?

Then it’s time to drink up, wipe the pizza sauce off my gob and find the lads. Jeremy and I chat briefly, and I see Raine by the door of the meet-and-greet room.  He’s ensconced in a group, chatting and being serious. I pat him on the arm as I head out. “I interviewed you last time you were out here, solo,” I say. “We have history. I’m Mikala.”  And Raine Maida smiles a great big smile. “OH YEAH!” he says, breaking the serious. “It’s good to see you again!”

And the feeling’s mutual. It’s been a while. I forgot that I like Our Lady Peace.\m/

And where those sparks are reflected back at the crowd from the-hand-on-heart/heart-on-sleeve singer who tells you that he’s never had a bad show at the Biltmore Cabaret and how he can feel that love in the room and you believe him ‘cos he means it?

And how a voice can sound cloud-sized and enormous? And when the drums are so insanely tight, but the bass is fluid? And how “Idle Heart” starts you off,  ”The Reflection of You” begs you to dance, “Lovesick Teenager” has everyone bouncing,  ”You Do You” and “Dust Cloud” are trippy wonderful and “World of Freakout” makes you want to spin your arms?

And how you feel that the electro you’re hearing is likable and accessible and joyous and not perfect but perfect enough for tonight? And how afterwards, you thank Jon, Joe and Adam and they thank you for dancing in the front row?

Yeah, that. \m/

But it was just some sort of Kevin Kane tease before the final song, up there on stage at the Rickshaw in Vancouver. Either that or I’d misheard, gone deaf from the previous awesome Canadiana folk-rock. (A possibility considering we’re all – okay, well, not new fourth member Robert Watt – OLD now.)

What I did hear were the classics. The usuals: from fave super oldies “A Dream About You” and “Misunderstanding” through Treehouse hits, “All The Things I Wasn’t”, a rocktacular drum-fest by the elder Hooper (Chris) on “A Fishing Tale”, “Do You Want To Tell Me?” plus all the soft rockin’ goodness sung by the Tom (the Younger) Hooper.

Even though there were bass troubles, cold-fluey heads and the fact the club video guy either played the dreadful hockey game or his Mac settings on the side screens, the show elicited the typical warm n’ fuzzies one gets from a revisit from the Wrath.

But me? I’m looking forward to the new stuff, chaps. Get thee to, uh, Orangeville with producer Darryl Neudorf, and crank out some future gems, so I can hop in my T.A.R.D.I.S, zoom ahead in time, revisit THOSE songs, then ask the same question I always do: how the hell have these guys not aged? \m/

Such was the case for the lovely Laura Marling & Andrew Bird who played at Vancouver’s Vogue Theatre on April 10. Whilst I was tripping down memory lane with Thomas Dolby,  I dispatched local photog extraordinaire Brittney Kwasney from Bright Photography – who is a bit of a Marling FANATIC – to attend to the pretties of Marling & Bird. Here are her pics. \m/