David Gillespie

So Toronto in the winter time seems filled with people wearing black complaining about the weather, as if it somehow came as a surprise that it was a) cold or b) snowing. I expected a lot of things when I arrived (bad coffee, Neanderthals masquerading as athletes), I didn’t expect people to complain about the cold, I have it on good authority places other than here don’t suffer the same sort of winter.

Regardless, I have found a handful of things I didn’t expect but make this place feel a little more like home. For starters:

Balzac’s Coffee – this reminds me of two of my favourite spots back in Melbourne, St. Ali and Brother Baba Budan, though it has a twist all its own with the cobblestone interior and roaster visible through an internal window. It’s down in The Distllery District which , as the name suggests, is where a bunch of the brewers were/still are. The day I went down there I was wearing new shoes that made my feet hurt, so it seemed like quite a hike, though I imagine it isn’t actually nearly that bad, but in case it is, you can order online which is exactly what I’ve done as I was running low. In a town, nay, country where there is some kind of gross-misconception that the enjoyment of coffee requires adding sugar and cream to the point where you can no longer taste the fucking beverage, Balzac’s is a breath of fresh air and my saviour.

Soma Chocolatier – also down in The Distillery, Soma is chock-full of the kinds of treats, drinks, and goodies that make this simple life worth living. I nabbed a Mayan Hot Chocolate mix when I was down there I am yet to try, but I went hard on their selection of truffles, which could really do no wrong. There was also a book my companion found which suggested pairing Rieslings with dark chocolate as opposed to red wine; this sounds like heresy on the surface but I think it demands closer inspection.

Green Shag – these guys are fun. Located in the ever-so-boho-trendy Queen West area, Green Shag are a boutique tailor who have a lot fo fun with their clothes, stitching in different things to their French cuffs like a chart of pick up lines, a guide to wine vintages etc. The shirts are reasonable (start ~$160 or so I believe, more for custom tailoring), so I’m thinking about getting one made with classic guitars stitched in. Rock on.

The Horseshoe – this is an institution for music in Toronto the way The Espy is for Melbourne. I am told everyone who has come up out of Canada has played at The Horseshoe, so obviously I hope to add my name to that list of luminaries shortly. Also on Queen West, though not as far west as Green Shag. The atmosphere reminds me a lot of The Espy back home, I’m looking forward to taking the stage shortly.

Last but not least, The Drake Hotel, where I will be returning to Monday April 6th. On stage at 11pm, looking forward to seeing you there. If this poster looks familiar, it’s because we here at David Gillespie Enterprises believe in recycling, and are doing our part to ensure graphic designers everywhere are not over worked.

Thank you to Alysha as always for the help with the posters. She is moving to London soon, so be good to her.

Obviously stoked to be playing tonight. I’d link to my artist page but their database seems to be down at the moment, replaced by error messages where results should be. Oh, here’s something that kinda gets the job done.

Also back at The Drake on April 6th. Looking forward to it. Rumour has it there’s some studio time booked somewhere around here too. Preparing to record reminds me of the first time around (apologies, linking to the iTunes store is troublesome as you’re all from everywhere, but look into it, you’ll find it!), in that there’s so much bottled up inside now I feel like it has to get recorded to make room for the new stuff. The fact my brothers in arms are so far away is a challenge to be overcome, though I’m sure we’ll find a way.

Let the good times roll…

So it’s quite exciting, I have my first gig not on Australian soil coming up. I will be playing solo acoustic at Toronto venue The Drake Hotel. Poster below, it’s next Monday night (March 2nd), around midnight.

You know you want to.

It’s extraordinary the space life expands to occupy, and equally contracts when it needs to. My life is just a series of boxes at the moment. Maybe not my life, but the possesions that suggest at some point a David Gillespie that looked like me, was interested in stuff like me, did other things like me existed. It’s like the idea of not working for a while, in fact the two things sit at a table in some nondescript bar I currently occupy, leering over at me, knowing that without a stack of guitars in the corner and some office space to occupy, I’m a little unsteady on my feet.

I understand I’m not supposed to say that, but right now everything is up for grabs. So I’m grabbing at the stuff that seems a little less transient than a business card and a CD collection. I don’t know what it looks like yet, I’ll find out soon enough. Grappling at seemingly formless objects in the dark somehow seems to bring whatever it is you need out into the light.

Unless of course you’re drunk and can’t find your keys

Then you’re hosed.

On Prince’s The Gold Experience, a shapeless voice at the end of the track Gold says “Welcome to the dawn.” So I’ll see you in the light I guess.

I seriously (srsly) love this. While it needs a bunch of people to really make it work, the idea behind it is brilliant. Everyone is an instrument somewhere in four bars that repeat, they get played once and you collaborate to produce music.

Look for my next album to feature this heavilly.

So I had a guitar riff and the chorus running around my head, which I quickly put down into Garage Band so I didn’t forget the idea. Then, just sitting at my desk, started playing the chorus and the words…well…the words just came. It’s funny, I can say with absolute certainty it’s been a long time since I had a broken heart, I guess life just stores things away and pulls them out at the right time – they call that experience, right?

—

Was I just a little too loud?
Did I walk a little too proud?
I didn’t put those words in your mouth
That was all you

Could have sworn I could read the signs
And the lightning flash in your eyes
I never learned to paint inside the lines
That’s the truth

And it hurts a little less each time
It hurts a little less each time
Break it once, baby break it twice
It hurts a little less each time

Sorry baby I’m not home
Sorry babe I forgot my phone
Sorry baby now I know
The truth

Might go for a drive tonight
Lights out on a moonless sky
Get some space between our lives
Space from you

And it hurts a little less each time
It hurts a little less each time
Break it once, baby break it twice
It hurts a little less each time

It hurts a little less each time
It hurts a little less each time
Break it once, baby break it twice
It hurts a little less each time

Lisa Breslow has an exhibition going in NYC at Kathryn Markel Fine Arts until December 20. I unfortunately make it to town 11 days later so will miss it. Those in town should check it out.

Found via the ever brilliant bad banana blog.

I got a new set of clothes and a pretty red rose, and a woman I can call my friend – Bruce Springsteen, Better Days

That is, quite possibly, my favourite line in any song, ever. I do of course request the right to change that point of view on account of the fact that, well, I’m me. And you’re you, so you should reserve the right to change your mind as well. We are nothing if not contradictions, and that’s quite OK.

One of best friends, photographer Paul Mee (who has taken anything I’d ever care to use) has that pinned permanently to his wall, held in place by seemingly nothing but sheer force of will most of the time. Paul has, I think, all of the above at the moment, which makes me smile to be able to say that. On the phone to my best friend who is a world away in London right now, I think he’s got it as well, at least for a little while. Maybe we all always have it some fashion, we seem to somehow train ourselves to look past it, for what I’m not sure, not most of the time.

Thinking about what I wrote yesterday, about change, and about the idea of not changing being too much to face, I don’t know if that counts as rock bottom – can it be rock bottom when nothing is actually wrong? How do you suddenly stop when nothing actually gets in the way? Maybe parts of it are preemptive, some sort of struggle to grind to a stop and change direction before, somewhere down the track, hurtling into a barrier and being thrown, against the will of everybody riding, into the gaping void of God knows where. I know I brought it to a stop, and under my own strength got out, looked around and sought the tunnel with the darkest entrance but the brightest light; maybe its the stars and maybe it’s a train hurtling towards me from the opposite direction, I don’t know.

But I’m ready to run towards it.

These are better days.

Sitting at home on a rainy Thursday with Don Henley’s New York Minute on repeat while being unable to access my company’s servers is tres-’ow-you-say, boooooreeng? A day out of the office was supposed to accomplish much on account of the fact I had nobody else to yell at if I didn’t like the music. Turns out I’m a pain in the ass and won’t change it, no matter what I threaten me with.

I often say I’d be a better songwriter if I didn’t listen to so much Bon Jovi as a kid. Jon, if you’re out there, you owe me.

I have 24 days left in Melbourne until I journey across the pond (aka the Pacific Ocean), then across North America to land myself in the frozen wastes of Toronto. Someone asked me “Why Toronto?” this morning, I couldn’t do much more than shrug. I likened the whole thing to feeling like a character in a video game, hitting a point where the player pressed ‘A’ to go left, ‘B’ to go right, and somebody else having made the decision to hit ‘B’. Imagine my surprise looking over my shoulder, through the screen and back a the individual responsible. “Ok, right it is.”

My folks moved internationally quite a bit – given they had my brothers and I in tow I’d like to think it carried a bit more fore-thought than my impending exodus. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t, I don’t imagine that very much matters now; the idea of staying put simply became far scarier than the idea of changing everything.

So, change everything it is.

This…

…for this…

Welcome.

Then again, neither does he.

P.S. Somebody please sign me so I can make ‘em like that again.

Kthxbai.