Word on the Street

Word on the Street. Queen's Park, Sunday, September 27, 2009.

Well, I'm not the world's most literate guy, but I do feel a warm burst of affection in the old whatzit at the idea of Word on the Street. Sprawling in and around Queen's Park, there's a wide variety of booths for book-related organizations¹ and publishers and magazines and what have you, all in a massive arc around Queen's Park Circle and running up almost to Bloor. And the park's greenspace itself, colonized by a variety of stages catering to various tastes — the biggest one a CBC stage presided over by Start McLean, indicative of the sort of scrubbed-clean middlebrow sentiment that is WOTS' sweet spot. But there's plenty more inneresting stuff around the edges.

Arriving at noon, I had to pick between a couple options: Sandro Perri on the eye-sponsored music stage, or a reading from Ray Robertson. Figuring that, given my habits, I'd have more chances at hand to revisit the former, I went with local writer Robertson, someone who works I've followed pretty much since Home Movies, his first novel. Starting from there and through four subsequent novels, Robertson has written with a certain kind of attitude — rock'n'roll as opposed to folk, we might say, to pull out a music metaphor — avoiding our national literary tradition of fusty frontierism, that whole garrison mentality thing.² So it was with some surprise to me that Robertson introduced his new novel David, set in Chatham in the late nineteenth century. Ah, ye olde historical novel, that CanLit staple. Pretty aware of the sort of thing he could be lumped in with, Robertson cracked some jokes about how he left enough sex and drugs and general bad behaviour in the novel that he wouldn't have to worry about renting a tux for the Giller celebrations. He read some from the book and chatted with the crowd and left a pretty positive impression.

After that, wandering across the park, I did manage to catch the last couple songs of Sandro Perri's set, including a new song written from the werewolf's point of view. And then I had a few minutes to wander round and decide my next move. Tho I was tempted to check out Masaisai at the world music stage, I decided again to go with books over music. Or at least panels about books about music. Formally a discussion of Stuart Berman's BSS biography This Book is Broken, ("Dave Morris from EYE WEEKLY will be leading an onstage interview with Stuart and members of Broken Social Scene," crowed the event website, which turned out to be somewhat overstated) the panel turned out to be Jonny Dovercourt, Dalton Higgins and Sarah Liss.³ More of a chummy retrospective chat about the history of the local indie rock scene than anything too hard-hitting, the conversation mostly played out between Berman and Dovercourt, with Higgins and Liss dropping in from time to time like kooky sitcom neighbours. In fact Higgins⁴, as someone coming into this discussion at more of a tangent, scored the most stinging point by noting that for all of the complaints the indie rockers had about the difficulty in building up their scene, they had, in fact, all kinds of infrastructures and supports that weren't available to, say, reggae or hip-hop groups, who are no less "independent" in its most basic sense. I perhaps didn't learn much that I hadn't read about in Berman's book or otherwise experienced on my own, but there is a kind of basic thrill in seeing something you can relate to as real, actual history.

Stuck around to check out Bruce Peninsula. Although highly-praised by many music authorities around town, I was more reserved in my appreciation after the last time I'd saw them. Playing as a relatively compact seven-piece (still enough of a crowd that drummer Steve McKay was consigned to a spot on the ground to the left of the stage) the band managed to fill the tent with sound quite nicely, despite the fact that other stages on both sides were also blasting competing music. One of the "hooks" of the music stage at a literary festival is a mandate for the artists to talk about their writing process, and although Matt Cully and crew seemed a little shy and reluctant, their banter did a nice job of unpacking how they use old ways of singing to explore the world around them, and to find their voices in a community of song. Cully and Misha Bower also talked about the yin and yang of their music, how it can be effective as either a raucous shout directed outwards or a quiet, self-directed lament — which they then put into practice with the juxtaposition of "Weave Myself a Dress" and "Crabapples". Enjoyed the thirty-five minutes with the band on this occasion more than I had previously.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Went for a walk after that, both to poke around in the stalls some and to keep an eye out for some friends I knew'd be wandering the area, and indeed came across them and that turned into a pleasantly strolling visit.⁵ And after, J. stuck around as we headed back to the eye tent to catch Joe Pernice, reading from It Feels So Good When I Stop, his first novel. A noted musician for his work both under under his own name as well as with the Pernice Brothers and the Scud Mountain Boys, Pernice has turned the narrative and observational gifts apparent in his songcraft to the page. He read a selection from the novel that was fairly satisfying, but commented after that it wasn't so much the passage he'd most liked to have read as much as the one passage he could find with the least amount of blue language to read at a family-friendly event. Still, it was filled with grim humour and sounds like a book I will get my hands on. It was followed by an interview distinguished by lengthy, detailed questions from the interviewer that set up short, curt responses from the author — about the exact opposite ratio one'd like to see in a situation such as this. But good fun, all the same.

Coulda stuck around the music tent to catch Ghost Bees, but not only was I worried that the noise from the surrounding stages would overwhelm their delicate songcraft, I'd also told A. that I'd meet up with him. Found him in the Proud Voices tent catching a poetry reading by Billeh Nickerson. The bit I caught sounded fairly amusing. We walked over to the author signing tent after so A. could get Nickerson to sign his book, and spotted Margret Atwood down at the other end of the tent, looking bright and friendly as ever at the end of what must have been a long line of enthusiasts queueing up to meet her.

All told, a pretty solid afternoon. Another one of those events that make me feel like a citizen, and glad that I live in this city.

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¹ Everyone is pro-literacy, it seems — who's taking up the opposing viewpoint on that?

² This about exhausts my theoretical wellspring of literary knowledge.

³ As it turned out, everyone on stage was wearing sneakers. Utter coincidence? Trenchant meta-commentary? You decide!

⁴ Higgins had his own appearance on the same stage following this panel, bringing up some rappers & DJ's for something more involving than a mere discussion on his book Hip Hop World. Based on his engaging personality, were I not called elsewhere, it'd have been inneresting to stick around and hear more from him.

⁵ Celebrity sighting: Bob Rae, taking a break from the machinations of power politics (and possible internecine scuffles) and relaxing with some street food, leaning against the concrete entrance to Museum Station.