Who's The Best Frontman in Music?

Like it is for most questions about music, or art, the answer is subjective.

But for my money, it's Liam Gallagher.  A recent discussion on Facebook got me thinking about the Oasis singer, and after re-examining his case from all angles, I can once again confirm that he's the business.

The voice, the look, the balls, the stance, the swagger, the scooter, the hair, the cigs, the booze, the blow, the birds...take your pick.  But most of all, I love Liam for his 100%, 24/7, 365 days-a-year commitment to Being Liam.  If you like it, nice one.  If you don't - and believe me I know there are millions who don't - fine, sod off.

I met him once...it was the night Oasis played their 12th ever show, opening for Dodgy at the Manchester University student union bar in June of 1993.  From the off it was obvious they were something special...I turned to the chap standing beside me in the crowd (The Smiths' Johnny Marr, as it happens) and asked if they knew who this band was.  He said 'they're called Oasis' and by the time they got to I Am The Walrus, I was a fan for life.

When they were done, Liam hopped off the stage and wandered over to the bar.  It boggles the mind now, but I just walked up to him and told him I thought they were awesome.  He said, 'thanks, yeah'.  I asked if they had anything recorded yet, he said no.  'Not even a demo or anything?', I asked, unbelieving.   'No, man, nothing yet'.

I'd have to wait more than a year for Definitely Maybe.  But it was worth the wait.  Oasis have had their ups and downs...the quality's been hit and miss, but not where Liam's concerned, not for me.

In honour of the man...here's his latest song.  Dubbed 'Man of Misery' it's apparently meant to promote his clothing label, Pretty Green. The video has Liam recreating scenes from Jimmy's visit to Brighton at the end of Quadrophenia.  Which for me, is as awesomely convergent as, say, Morrissey reading PG Wodehouse.

 

See, I'm Canadian After All

Yesterday I said some things about the Canadian men's Olympic hockey team that might have led you to believe I was something less than a true Canadian.  As proof of my heritage, I present recent photographic evidence of my father teaching my daughter how to play the game.

If that sweater doesn't clear my name, I don't know what will.  (Bonus photos are of the two of them with an absolutely awesome toy riding tractor)

Skeleton In My Closet

I have something terrible to admit. 

I barely gave a crap about the Canadian men winning hockey gold in Vancouver.  

Whoop-de-doo

I think I may have given Suzanne a sideways smirk when Sidney Crosby scored, but there was certainly no fistpumping, no high-fives, no whoops of joy.  No particular feeling of pride.  

Don't get me wrong;  I absolutely love the Olympics.  I watched CTV's excellent and often hilarious coverage pretty much from the minute I woke up until I went to work, and from the time I got home until I went to bed.  In between I checked online results throughout the day.  I was a full-on junkie.  But all the while I carried a shameful secret:  The hockey just didn't do anything for me.  

Bilodeau!

I took far more pleasure from Alex Bilodeau's awesome performance in moguls.  I was more moved by the Ice Dance win of Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir.  And neither of these emotions reached the depths of the disappointment I felt when Cheryl Bernard lost the curling gold.  

Think about that:  I cared more about women's curling than I did about men's hockey.  Do I need to turn in my passport? 

Here are the events I watched significantly more than hockey:

...actually, scratch that.  I was going to make a list, but I just checked Wikipedia and it was ALL OF THEM. 'Wait, Jesse', you're saying, 'surely not even Ski Jumping?'  Indeed, Ski Jumping! Watching Ammann, Maylsz and Schlierenzauer battle it out on the normal AND large hills was incredible! (although I consider myself an Andreas Wank man) 

As the games went on, it seemed to me that for most people, the Olympics was essentially a hockey tournament with a bunch of opening acts.  I think a lot of people probably felt comforted by Pierre McGuire's continued and boorish references to the NHL, but for me, he was the utter antithesis to Brian Williams, and my entire problem in a nutshell.

One of these people belonged at the Olympics

And I'd bet my house, that for the vast majority of Canadians, the Games' defining moment was Crosby's winner.

But in a fortnight that gifted me dozens, my absolute highlight, the moment that had me leaping farthest off the couch, pumping my fist in the air and swearing 'YESSS!  EFFING Ye-e-e-e-e-sssss!' happened at the end of Latvian skeleton racer Martins Dukurs' fourth run.  As the final slider in the competition, Dukurs looked to have a lock on Gold all the way down the hill until something went wrong on the very last corner where he lost enough time to hand victory to  used-car salesman Jon Montgomery.

Draped in our flag, Montgomery began celebrating joyously, later describing the moment as feeling like he'd stuck his finger in a light socket.  His elation was so obviously pure, so clearly the pinnacle of his unheralded training and sacrifice, that to me, Jon Montgomery became the Olympics personified.

Then, when he walked through the adoring crowd lining Whistler's main drag, serenaded by our anthem, drinking lustily from a pitcher of beer...has there ever been a more perfect portrayal of how excellent Canada can be?

To the Victor go the Suds

I shouldn't say I felt nothing when the red light went on that final Sunday, because I take great satisfaction from Canada's record 14 gold medals. And 'Men's Ice Hockey' is undeniably one of them.  

But when I look back at Vancouver's Olympics, I won't be getting nostalgic for Getzlaf, Heatley and Nash.  My glowing pride is thanks instead to the likes of Hamelin, Nesbitt and Groves, but most especially for the red-bearded skeleton racer who started his run a unknown auctioneer from Russell and ended it our national ambassador.