Why Montreal Women Rule: Auf der Maur's and Jodoin-Keaton's left-brain/right-brain balancing acts

One of the reasons I started posting here was to tell the stories I wanted to tell, not what a newspaper or magazine wants me to say, but what I want, and how. It's just a little personal blog but it's making me love writing again (I forgot this part -- where I'd rather cuddle up with my laptop on a Saturday night than... well, okay, almost) and inspiring me to develop other creative skills like acting, filmmaking, and a few other tricks I have up my sleeve!

Point is, more ways to tell the story = more entry points for people to connect to it. Even this book I'm writing has a documentary film on the side (like fries) and it just feels like the right way to do it, you know? Amazingly, this DIY sentiment was echoed by two Montreal-bred women I happened to interview this week: Melissa Auf der Maur (formerly of Hole and Smashing Pumpkins, now a multi-platform solo artist with a new release) and Valérie Jodoin Keaton (formerly of the Dears, now of For Those About to Love and a music photographer with a new book out featuring -- ahem -- Paul McCartney).

The world really has changed, the way we tell and absorb stories has changed, and I don't think we have to choose just one creative form. Since it can take a long time, decades, to become really good at something, I think the early thirties are a typically good age to start "adding stuff in" if we've been working hard, and it seems it's also when we start to understand (after a few years watching others do it well and really badly) how to maintain control over the business stuff, too.

Like Melissa and Valérie, I think that's the challenge: to be in charge of the way our stuff is thrown into existence. This basically means developing new distribution networks that fit into today's world and suit the work itself, rather than selling our stuff to big companies who change it to fit old-fashioned models and their own agendas.

So to succeed, it seems creative types need artistic genius and the marketing skills to reach a lot of the right people -- and damn, that idea had better be pretty amazing, right? The *thing* has to be amazing and the way you market the thing, ingenious and authentic. As Melissa told me, I'm paraphrasing here, anyone can start an indie label or a blog, but it takes hard work to stand out from the herd.
Hmmm.

Here's what these two had to say about it all. Enjoy. Take a moment to reflect. I'm packing to get on a plane tomorrow, and then going out for a double.

Photos of Rufus Wainwright and M.I.A. courtesy of Valerie Jodoin Keaton, from her book Backstage

MELISSA AUF DER MAUR IS OUT OF HER MIND (From Spinner.ca, written by moi)
There are many ways to tell a story -- words, music, film, paint -- and artists no longer have to choose just one. Case in point, the "multi-dimensional" indie release 'Out of Our Minds' by Melissa Auf der Maur, who grew up in Montreal before '90s rock stardom swept her away to play bass for Hole and Smashing Pumpkins.

Three years in the making, there's an 'OOOM' song, forthcoming album, comic book, website and 28-minute fantasy film that premiered at last year's Sundance Film Festival (albeit with a soundtrack composed by L.A. band Entrance).

"'OOOM' started as a song," Auf der Maur tells Spinner from her upstate New York home the morning after a late-night studio session laying down French vocals for a new album track. "Then, as the music industry collapsed, the song became the forefront of a new creative survivalism in my life. I wanted to take this idea as far as possible and connect with humans on many different levels. Give me a space and I will bring you 'Out of Our Minds,' be it the screen of a computer, a live rock show or a dark cinema. I wanted to create an experience that people could find their own ways into."

Thematically, 'OOOM' urges us to explore the feminine, intuitive, emotional and mystical aspects of life. Archetypes like vikings, witches, even time travel abound.

"I've never believed that time is linear. It's not past and future -- it is all here and now. I remember a night in my prepubescent years as I gazed at the stars contemplating infinity, I understood that our tiny universe's existence is just a blink of an eye in the big picture," says the 37-year old, who also goes by the moniker MAdM.

"That perspective fuels my search, my hunt and my quest to connect with other humans via music and art," she continues. "'Out of Our Minds' is a call to travel out of our minds -- and all rigid time zones that grid our lives -- and into the parallel worlds that run along us. We all have access to a Viking or a car crash if we only close our eyes and let go."

A few years ago, legal battles with her former major label prevented Auf der Maur from releasing her second record. Rather than sign with another label, she waited, buckled down and did it on her own. She now owns that unreleased material, much of which is on the OOOM album. Part of this quest has been developing an artist-run multimedia model she hopes will inspire other creative types to also take the reins of the wagon that brings their art into the world.

"I needed this time to connect all the parts," she says. "The 21st century is here and I'm not going to play into the old business model. I've worked hard on the creative stuff, but I've worked just as hard at becoming a strong, grown-up woman and self-responsible business person. But the root is still a three-and-a-half-minute song. If there wasn't the song, there wouldn't be this project. And the song is rooted in wanting to connect."

Melissa Auf der Maur is showcasing at M for Montreal this Saturday, Nov. 21 at Cabaret. 'OOOM''s lead single, '*Out Of Our Minds*' is available at xmadmx.com (free, for now).The film is screening at the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts until Feb. 7, 2010 as part of the Waterhouse exhibit.


BACKSTAGE ACCESS (from DazedDigital.com, written by me)
Valérie Jodoin Keaton's new book of portraits gets you up close and personal with musicians backstage

Ever wanted to spy on your favourite rock stars in those precious minutes before or after they perform? An intimate new photography book, "Backstage" by Valérie Jodoin Keaton does just that, capturing Beck, Rufus Wainwright, Smashing Pumpkins, the Dandy Warhols, M.I.A., Jack White - who, says Keaton, was more "tan" than than she expected - and dozens more. Some portraits from the book are also part of "Who Shot Rock & Roll", a photo exhibit showing at the Brooklyn Museum through January 31st, 2010.

One of Keaton’s favourite shots is of Paul McCartney. “Two days before his show in Quebec City last year, I sent his manager my presentation letter with samples of my photographs,” says the 35-year-old Montrealer, who's also a musician. (Until a couple of years ago, she was a member of the Dears along with husband Martin Pelland, with whom she now has a band called For Those About To Love - and a year old son.) “He answered back and said no, but I guess he liked my work because he asked, ‘Do you do live photography?’ and hired me to shoot McCartney’s show and asked me to use the same camera.”

Keaton's calling card is a classic 1975 Hasselblad, loaded with black-and-white film for an old-school, truthful documentary feel. When McCartney hired her again to shoot his Halifax, NS show, she dined with the former Beatle and his friends. “We spent some time talking about my work, and finally he accepted to pose for my project.”

As a touring musician and now, photographer (she’s also done album covers and press shots for the likes of Strokes’ alumnus Albert Hammond Jr.) walking the walk, so to speak, helped Keaton gain access to her Backstage subjects, as well as their trust. They know she understands what it’s all really like. In fact, spending so much time backstage herself is how she became fascinated with capturing those fleeting, human moments that unravel there when nobody’s watching. “The backstage is a timeless space of isolation. Right before performing the subject is so focused on himself that his authenticity shines through... You can see into their souls a little bit,” she explains.

After preparing a demo book as a sort of “passport,” Keaton used her personal contacts to slip backstage before concerts, when no media is normally allowed, and simply asked her subjects to pose. “I like to get up close, capture the moment. Not action shots. I just wanted their gaze.” (Of course, getting permission to later publish all these portraits took three years of legal legwork and red-tape. But she did it.)

An avid observer of people, she says it was humbling to go from being the rock star herself to experiencing, at first, a "weird, intruding feeling every time I photograph.” She would wonder, “Why am I doing this to myself? But every time, the picture is the answer.”

Published by Éditions Varia, Backstage launches in Quebec November 20 at the M for Montreal festival, and is available internationally at www.valeriejodoinkeaton.com. For Keaton’s band and new album, visit www.ftatl.com.

Why French Women Rule: Audrey Tautou Channels Chanel

When I met French actress Audrey Tautou and gorgeous director Anne Fontaine at the Sofitel in Montreal a couple of months ago, I left the hotel fully inspired and strutting down the street. Man, these French women have this certain feminine confidence that I'd love to grow into. It seems the culture allows them to be both sexy and strong; beautiful and smart, and they don't apologize for being the whole sensual package at any age, for accomplishing the impossible and running the show, lipstick intact. Maybe I'm generalizing but I just get the feeling these women are really living, and enjoying the ride. Inspiring, non?

Here's the story I wrote for the Globe & Mail about Tautou, Fontaine, and the Coco Chanel biopic they made together:

Voila:

When a movie shoot wraps or a play run closes, certain roles are tough for an actor to say goodbye to. For Audrey Tautou, the part of Coco Chanel wasn’t one of them.

"For me, Chanel was in a state of internal violence, of anger, because she wants to be someone, do something with her life, but doesn't know how, so this part of the character was quite heavy to carry inside me,” said the gamine French actress about her powerful performance in Coco Avant Chanel (Coco Before Chanel). The French feature about the icon's early years opened in Canada on Friday.

“Even though this hardness wasn't something I directly expressed in every scene, it was something I had to 'have' in every scene. Chanel was not a light person, she's too preoccupied by her destiny. So when I finished the film, I was happy to let that part go. It can get tiring.”

Along with director Anne Fontaine (La Fille de Monaco, Love Affairs Usually End Badly) Tautou was in a Montreal hotel room to promote Coco Avant Chanel’s North American release. Dressed in a grey suede jacket and tank top, skinny jeans and ballet flats, the 33-year old best known for The Da Vinci Code opposite Tom Hanks (2006) and Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain (2001) was a tiny, radiant fireball. Her hair, dyed black, was cut into a tousled bob, her lips and nails painted red. She’s perfectly cast as the ambitious, androgynous mademoiselle who went on to found the French fashion house, free women from corsets, and invent the little black dress. Fiercely independent until her death in 1971 at age 87, Chanel refused to conform to the world's notion of what a woman should be, and, rather, changed the world to suit her truth.

“She was a feminist before such a thing really existed, and decided to acquire the same freedom that men had,” said Tautou. “She rejects the hand life has dealt her and takes her destiny in hand. She literally invented her own life. C’est formidable.”
Certainly, in person Tautou is sweeter and more charming than the woman she plays with such contained intensity, but she, too, exudes confidence and speaks with conviction few would argue with. In fact, so focused was she on our interview that when voices from the hall outside became distracting, she marched over to the hotel room door, pulled it open, and firmly asked the astonished flurry of publicists and media waiting there to please speak more quietly so we could concentrate. "Merci!"

As the movie tells us, Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel grew up in an orphanage with her sister and became a courtesan, aspiring actress and singer -- though not exactly a good one. (The nickname Coco came from a song she used to belt out in nightclubs, about a lost dog of the same name.) As she manoeuvres her way into high society, we see her strength, street-smart humour, and need for love. We learn of her relationships with two men, Étienne Balsan (Benoît Poelvoorde) and Boy Capel (Alessandro Nivola), both of whom eventually enable her to choose work over marriage. We see her discover her calling, and, after tragedy, devote her life to work.

And, during a time when women were literally tied up in corsets and frivolous gowns, we understand fashion’s political side: clothing’s basic power to repress or liberate.
Fontaine calls it "fashion through life," pointing out that Chanel's very first designs (simple hats and modified menswear) resulted from practical needs. "She wants to go ride horses, to run, to be free, and when you are with the corsets and ridiculous hats and dresses, you can't live," said the fifty-year old director, who co-wrote the screenplay for Avant Chanel "loosely based" on Edmonde Charles Roux’s book L’Irrégulière, ou, Mon Itinéraire Chanel.

A former actress and model, Fontaine relates to her heroine’s need to control her fate. "For me, to be an actress was to depend on the desire of somebody else,” she said. “And I felt very uncomfortable that somebody can decide if I was OK or not OK, if I could do the part. At twenty-five years old I said, 'I can't have a life like that, it's not possible.' So I quit, modeled to make money, and I began to write... And like that, I did my first movie. I was completely self-taught, but I knew the story I wanted to tell."

But was loneliness the price of Chanel’s independence? Tautou isn't sure. "She had an enormous amount of love in her life. She was often in love, she was always with men. But she said all her life she was lonely. This, I believe, was part of her nature. Don't forget, at her core she was an abandoned child. That's something you keep inside yourself all your life, I don't think it's a question of destiny, but more a question of the past, of her baggage."

Like a lipstick stain on silk, Coco Chanel’s presence seems to haunt even these proceedings. Yes, she left us a fashion empire. But this film, the women who made it, and, perhaps, even audiences, are left equally steeped in her emotional legacy; the drive to create an authentic life -- even if this life challenges the world around us.
At the end of the interview, Tautou -- whose next project is a play in Paris -- pulled out a digital camera and asked to take my photograph, explaining that it's just for her, a little something she does with every journalist. "If not, it all just disappears,” she smiled.

London Calling: Bloc Party's Hangouts

Did you know Bloc Party's favourite West London curry house is most certainly not the same curry house preferred by Franz Ferdinand? Neither did I, until I hung out with these quirky, cool guys backstage before a Montreal concert. They were all enthusiastic about giving me a solid, proper guide to their favourite West London hangouts and really explaining how London -- and London's nightlife -- shaped them as a band and as humans. I love how they kept referring to themselves as nerds. Now we can all go on a Bloc Party pilgrimage.

Photo by Susan Moss

“As a band, we owe a lot to London,” says Gordon Moakes, bassist of London-based electronic-meets-indie-rock foursome Bloc Party. “Growing up in London and going out in London... and learning that indie music’s not just about boys and guitars.”

THE END
When I first got to know [band members] Russell [Lissack] and Kele [Okerke] in 2003, we liked to hang out in the same places. One of those places was Trash at West London club The End. Trash was renowned for its eclectic music and intimidating door staff, who’d veto you on the basis of your fashion. That stuff is always bound to be slightly elitist, but I’m a complete nerd and I never had any problems getting in, so they were probably looking for people who wouldn’t beat up the people inside. [Frontman] Kele’s said Trash really influenced him when it comes to writing music -- that you don’t necessarily have to choose between genres. - Matt Tong, drummer The End & AKA: 18 West Central Street, London WC1A 1JJ; (44) 020 7419 9199; www.trashclub.co.uk, www.endclub.com

ROUGH TRADE RECORDS
It’s my favourite record shop in London. Wen I was a teenager I’d take the tube to the Royal Oak station on the Hammersmith line, which is not a very hip area, but there are nice buildings and it’s a nice walk. I used to go there looking for very specific, specialist sort of records; the kind of obscure indie you look for when you’re... into obscure indie! And I’d fantasize about living in London. Years later, we did a photo shoot there... Of course, Rough Trade is famous not just for the [two] shops, but for the label that came out of the shop. - Gordon Moakes, bassist Rough Trade: 130 Talbot Road, London, W11 1JA; (44) 020 7229 8541; www.roughtrade.com

ANGLO ASIAN
I live in Stoke Newington, an area that’s got more young families pushing [baby] buggies than anywhere else in London. It’s also got really good curry houses. Apparently, [Franz Ferdinand singer] Alex Kapranos’s favourite curry house is on that same road, but I’m going to name a different one: the Anglo Asian. It’s a very ‘familiar’ sort of British curry house, not posh but it’s always super friendly and they give you loads of stuff! They’ll give you a sherry when you come in, and they’ll come around afterwards and give you a free drink and fruit salad. I’m a bit predictable, I always have the chicken roti. That’s my dish of choice. - Gordon Moakes Anglo Asian: 60-62 Stoke Newington Church Street, N16; (44) 020 7254 3633.

SOUND REPUBLIC
Oddly enough, this is where we did our first ever show as a band. It’s a funny place because it’s set up as a venue for bigger bands so I think we got a slightly exaggerated sense of what it was like to perform at that level - it just sounded really good on stage. There were probably, lke, twenty people there, but it felt like we were playing a massive rock show... then for the next six, seven months it was all downhill! - Matt Tong Sound (formerly Sound Republic): Swiss Centre, 10 Wardour Street, Leicester Square, London, W1D 6QF Tel: +44 (0)20 7287 1010

Blame it on Rio: Bebel Gilberto's hangouts

Brazil. That's one country I can't wait to fall in love with, to take home some of that sassy beachy sensuality and lively hip-shaking lifestyle that makes us North Americans seem like the totally repressed workaholics we are. Sigh. (Last night, out at a bar, I told my friend Lili I was moving to Spain for a few months, just for the sake of my mental health, but maybe Brazil would be a good choice as well.) Anyway, I often ask musicians to give me tips about hanging out in their hometowns, to tell me about the spots locals know about and also, places that inspired them.

Here's bossa nova icon Bebel Gilberto’s Rio de Janeiro, Brazil -- coconut water, mountain peaks and of course the beach.

ARPORADOR BEACH
The first thing I do when I arrive is check the weather. If the weather is good, I go to Ipanema beach. I’ll have a coconut water to clean myself from the plane, then go into the ocean and have a dip. The big coconut tree close to Posto Nuevo [9] is where all the most beautiful people meet, but if you walk about 500 metres, you'll find Arpoador beach. The water is cleaner and there is less people.

JOBI
It’s a very simple botequin [street bar] but it’s open from 11:00 a.m. until 5:00 in the morning. They know me, they know my mother... You can drink a Caipirinha, eat typical Brazilian foods, very cheap, and meet people from all different paths of society: elegant people, crazy people, young people... The Karne Seca Con Abobora [Dry meat and pumpkin] is a very good dish. Jobi: Av. Ataulfo de Paiva 1166, Leblon; 021/2274-0547; Rio de Janeiro, Brazil


UNIVERSO ORGANICO
What I would also do, me, Bebel, is go to Universo Orgânico. It’s owned by my friend, and they have all kinds of juices and vegetarian dishes -- energetic juices with flax seeds, I am addicted to it! Universo Orgânico: Rua Conde de Bernadote nº 26 / Lojas 105 e 106 Leblon, Rio de Janeiro, Brazil; 3874-0186/2274-8983; www.universoorganico.com

MORRO DA URCA On the top of Morro da Urca [the smaller peak of the Sugarloaf Mountain] there are two venues; a little small piano bar where I used to play, and now I’m coming back to play on the big stage in a place that really inspired me. There is the most beautiful view of Rio de Janeiro. I started and ended many romances there! Go there and you will understand why Cariocas [Rio locals] and Brazilian people are so inspired. You go up there, and you will easily write a song.”

M.I.A. and Heartbreak

We've all been there, right? Here's what one of my favourite musicians M.I.A. told me about her last relationship, the one before her current love and babydaddy. (Yes, we all know it was with a famous DJ but who cares who it was.) Point is... well, I'll let Maya tell you:


“I was really heartbroken when I made Kala,” she says. “My ex says I was difficult, that the thing he hated about me most was that I was a musician. That kind of blows my mind, because music is such a strong thing about who I am, but at the same time, something else gets taken away. I’m too much of a romantic. It’s like, ‘love is love! And you should die for it,’ you know?” Though she feels better now, she says her experience revealed a lot about competitiveness in relationships. “The woman can’t be stronger than the man.” What if you are? “Then you’re fucked.”

Thanks again to Susan Moss for the photo

All Bollywood, all the time

India's gotten mixed reviews. Some friends find it scary, polluted and dangerous. Others have told me it's changed their lives: people's pure joy despite poverty and danger, and of course the South Asian religions and cultures. I'd love to grow the balls to put my fears aside and just go there for a few months and experience it. We all know I love yoga. And curry. And East Indian music! Last year, just a week after the Mumbai bombings, I got a call from A.R. Rahman, the superstar Bollywood composer who did the Slumdog Millionaire soundtrack. Amazing. He told me about living in India today, collaborating with M.I.A. (**which reminds me, I should post the interview I did with her where we talked about heartbreak and how geniuses can sometimes be the biggest assholes in relationships) and why he's fighting to make music a legitimate career choice for his country's youth. O.. Saya!

(Here's the uncut version of my story from Dazed & Confused)

“To understand each other, art is important," says Indian composer A.R. Rahman a week or so after the devastating bombings in Mumbai. “It has to do with the world scenario. If you’re an artist you can do stuff politicians can’t. With a song, you can bring love back in a way that makes sense to the community and society. It’s very subliminal. I feel blessed.”

A star throughout South Asia, A.R. Rahman has sold more than 100 million albums, 200 million cassettes, worked with Andrew Lloyd Webber, Michael Jackson and David Byrne, and scored more than 100 films -- most recently, English director Danny Boyle’s acclaimed Slumdog Millionaire, shot in India..
Already, A.R.’s soundtrack, which blends big, bright Bollywood vibes with gritty hip-hop and grinding electronic beats (he collaborated with M.I.A. on “O...Saya”) has won an IPA Satellite Award and Golden Globe nomination. On a more, subtle level, the powerfully unpredictable score drives the movie’s feeling and pacing.

His music may be a force of nature, but the man himself is gentle, joyful and authentic. A Sufi Muslim, he doesn’t drink alcohol and considers his studio a shrine. “People take off their shoes, there’s incense all over the place,” laughs the 42-year old, from his home in India. “It also shows you also respect what you do -- that’s very important.” Less concerned about making “cool music,” he feels the “soul and intention” of music and art are what count.“ I write all kinds of scores, sentimental scores, hip hop, dance tracks... I listen to my stuff and ask, ‘Do I want to listen to it? Do I think it’s cool?’ It’s also passion; I want to love every bit of what I do.”

Sharing this passion, A.R. recently opened a music school, the KM Music Conservatory. “The students are from all over India, Malaysia, Singapore,” he says with childlike delight. “In India, people are proud to say, ‘My son is studying doctor or lawyer,’ but never take pride in saying, ‘My son is studying to be a musician. I want to give it status as a legitimate career path. Today, there is the technology side and the artistic side. We’re teaching both so people have options when they come up.”

An expert at both aspects, A.R. enjoyed “a lot of freedom” while working on the Slumdog soundtrack, composed in just three weeks. “Sometimes you go with what the director wants, and sometimes you go with what he needs,” he says. “Danny’s point of view of Bombay is completely different from what an Indian director would do. Sometimes I asked myself, ‘How does this guy know so much about my country?’” Just released, the Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack album also features M.I.A.’s “Paper Planes,” and, of course, “O...Saya.”

“I started when I was 12 years old, three generations ago, so she’s a completely new generation and it’s rejuvinating,” says A.R. of his collaboration. “When people say, ‘Why don’t you work together, it’s not a publicity stunt, it’s about genuinely trying to create something new that completely takes you, shocks you. ‘O Saya’ is the result of that.”

It’s no wonder M.I.A. and A.R. Rahman inspired each other. Both instinctively experiment with different influences, twisted and torn into something so new. In this high-frequency world of ideas, sophistication is the new naiveté, ghetto is the new couture, and creativity reminds us how we’re all connected.

“An awakening is happening in India,” says A.R., ever optimistic. “[People are starting to be] less complacent.”


*** A.R. Rahman’s Connections is just out on Nokia XpressMusic. The Slumdog Millionaire Soundtrack is available on N.E.E.T./Interscope Records.

Moby Tells All!

"Her name was Irina..."

Susan Moss shot this photo of New York's wise vegan baldie (and noted Lower East Side bar-hopper). He told me all about about sex in empty cinemas, breakfast cereal, political penises and how to be a good DJ these days. We love Moby. (This was for Dazed & Confused.)

What's...
...so special about you, then?
Um, I've been able to have a career as a musician even though I'm not pretty, I can't sing well, I'm bald, and I can't dance.


...the best piece of advice you've heard?
Monkeys might be cute but they make bad, poo-throwing pets.

...the world coming to?
Obesity.

...the scariest part of performing?
Fear of falling off the stage. This has happened a few times. It's humiliating.

... the secret to being a decent bar DJ these days?
Lynyrd Skynyrd mixed seamlessly into KC and the Sunshine Band. Also, a drunk crowd.

...the best thing about the eighties?
MDMA was legal in the states.

...your ideal night out?
Sex in an empty movie theater while watching Cloverfield.

... the yummiest vegan feast you can whip up in 10 minutes or less?
Raisin bran and soymilk. Really. Cereal is egregiously underrated.

...the sexiest song of all time?
"Whole Lotta Love: by Led Zeppelin

... your typical night out in New York?
Dinner with friends. Listening to disco DJs somewhere in the Lower East Side. Drinking too much cheap beer with ex-cons at Mars Bar. inviting 20 people from Bowery Electric or The Box over to my studio to hang out on my roof and watch the sun rise. In bed by 7:00 a.m.

...your holiday cocktail of choice?
Holiday cocktails just lead to hangovers, so i'll stick with cheap domestic beer.

...your hangover remedy of choice?
Spirulina smoothie, Aspirin, water, Xanax, sleep. .

..next year going to bring?
Not to state the obvious, but A NEW U.S PRESIDENT. Ha ha. I love that the world suddenly sees America as a progressive country with an African-American Democrat as president. How about a black or asian PM in the U.K? seems about time. Or a woman? (Thatcher doesn't count, as she actually had three penises.)

...your favourite website or blog?
Again, obvious, but puppycam. ...at the top of your shit list? Fear-mongering Republicans in the states who still haven't figured out that they lost the election.

and, the bonus round:
- Is it true you used to have someone on tour whose job was to put together afterparties. Do you miss anything about those days?
Yes, her name was Irina. I miss drinking until 6:00 a.m and not being hungover the next day .
- Is cocaine too socially acceptable?
In that it leads to narcissism, impotence, and drug addiction, probably. It also amazes me that cocaine is so ubiquitous in Europe and Australia. Personally, I don't know that it's very wise to trust a substance that was produced 5,000 miles away and has since been cut 100 times with any white powder the dealers/ suppliers had on hand.
- Is there a Santa Claus?
In NYC we have many, and they're all kind of sad and drunk.
- What do you think about these questions? Honestly, I want to know... :-) Lighthearted and diverting at 3:00 a.m. Thanks.

Vanquisher of Leeches

Boundary Issues!

The summer before last at Montreal’s Osheaga music festival, I interviewed the adorable Ben and Andrew of MGMT. (Who have a new album coming out in early 2010, called Congratulations. Congratulations!) Anyway, before they went on, their dressing room was loaded with a cute little boho entourage in shorts and fringes that appeared to have been transplanted from Max Fish in NYC’s East Village, and I wished I’d been warmer when Andrew asked me my astrological sign. (I’m a Sagittarius, in case you were wondering.) But I felt awkward, you know, boundaries and all. Which brings me to the point of this story: Boundary issues! Sure, over the years I’ve become good friends with a few people I’ve interviewed (hi, friends!). It’s easy when there’s a connection and they’re spilling their guts out and I’m listening, nodding and providing free rock star therapy. Or when we get along so peachily that the convo clearly must be continued at a more opportune time. But this is a rare phenomenon. Bottom line is, I’m there to do a job. So are the people I’m interviewing. I already have friends. So do they. I want to respect that professional distance while still engaging enough to have a real, meaningful, spontaneous conversation. (Interviews are kind of like acting in a scene with someone. You have to live out that connection in the moment, then shake hands and go back to your real life.)

When in doubt, I always err on the side of being overly professional. Because I am. I mean, I love connecting with good people -- that’s basically why I do what I do. But connecting with someone on any real level has nothing to do with digging their music or wanting to hang out with rock stars. Ugh! It’s actually the opposite. I’m also paranoid about being mistaken for a groupie, or I’m shy, or they’re shy, and I’m cautious -- buffoons walk among us. So I’ve learned to be careful about who I let into my life, and famous people are even more wary. Open but selective, you know? So that’s my rant for the day. Boundary issues!!!

Here’s the MGMT article. (Did you know Ben got kidnapped by a guy with really long fingers?) And some photos that my dear friend Lili Wexu, voiceover artist and actress extraordinaire, shot of our Osheaga soirée. I do enjoy a nice corn on the cob. Good times.

MGMT (from Naked Eye, Fall 2008)
Set in what appears to be the galaxy’s most raging full-moon party ever, the video for “Electric Feel” features the boys of Brooklyn, NY-based MGMT dancing in a mossy forest with faerie creatures and hot girls, jamming on tribal instruments, and smearing radioactive goop all over themselves. The Diyonisian jamboree climaxes with a close-up of each fellow’s handsome visage while he flies through the night sky on a motorcycle, as if airborne bikes are simply an alternative mode of transport to the New York subway.

Meet the two young men behind this otherworldly operation, friends who still laugh at each other's frequent (and subtle) jokes: Ben Goldwasser, the chatty one, small of build with a friendly smile and mop of dark curls. Sporting a headband and cut-off jean shorts, he plays keyboards.

Andrew VanWyngarden, the quietly mischevious one who resembles a sexpot Peter Pan. Decked out in fringed suede boots, tie-dyed T-shirt, and painted-on black jeans straight out of Richard Linklater’s Dazed and Confused, he mans guitar and lead vocals. He's also fond of breaking silences by looking up from the scab he’s picking off his elbow, grinning seductively, and announcing, with surprising sincerity, how excited he is about whatever banality is up for discussion: bagels; the Sextrology book he’s reading on the bus; the ring he bought on the streets of Montreal; and how scary it is when crazy, transient tour life starts to feel normal.

He says it like this: “I’m excited.”

So, are a Jewish kid from the Adirondacks and a Memphis, Tennessee pretty boy the new faces of psychedelia? Who knows. Or, more accurately, who cares. Whether you call their irresistible dance/rock sound future '70s, psych rock, or synth glam, MGMT’s part sincere, part satirical mystic schtick is so effective that fans have literally kidnapped Ben to discuss spiritual missions. Meanwhile, others wonder if these guys are for real. Like, who wears capes while performing on David Letterman? (They did! It was awesome!) Is it all a big consipracy to mock or manipulate?

Um, no. “It’s fun when people over-analyze what we’re doing but we don’t put that kind of thought into it,” says Ben, a Sagittarius, in case you were wondering. “We’re not putting all these secret little mysteries in our music. All that stuff is grounded in something, but we're taking it to a very extreme level and putting stuff in there that kind of confuses things.”

Tell that to the character who apparently “abducted” Ben in Connecticut. (Andrew claims he had “really long fingers.”) And that’s just the beginning. “A guy came up to us the other day and asked if we were in the intelligentia,” says Andrew, an Aquarius. “And in Richmond, one woman was like, ‘Can I talk to you for a second,’ and she pulled me aside and said, ‘You know your mission, you know what you're supposed to be doing.’ It was really intense.

“And there was this other guy in Portland who was like, ‘I went to the top of a mountain,’” Ben adds.

“A Mayan temple,” Andrew interjects.

“Yeah!” says Ben. “He was like, ‘We’re on this quest together, your band and me.’”

“He gave me a crystal,” says Andrew, happily. “Sometimes.. you wish you weren’t talking to them for quite as long, but usually it’s really good.”

Ben and Andrew met, and began tinkering with electronic noise loops and weird performance art, while studying music at Wesleyan University in Connecticut. An indie label released their Time to Pretend EP, they graduated, Andrew had a crisis of sorts and moved to Brooklyn. Ben worked construction upstate before joining his bandmate in hipsterville. Then, poof, Columbia Records offered MGMT a multi-album deal, based upon their EP. Having been on hiatus for months, they submitted to the label a wish list of producers including Barack Obama. (I’m excited!) Despite what a psych professor might call their "attempt at self-sabotage motivated by insecurity," Columbia recruited Flaming Lips producer Dave Fridmann. The result was Oracular Spectacular.

From the synthy, classic rock-influenced “Kids" to the psychedelic disco of “Electric Feel,” and, of course, “Time To Pretend” -- a tongue-in-cheek pop song about the perils of celebrity, cocaine, and model wives that, irony of ironies, is the band’s biggest hit to date -- it's an amazing debut. Rolling Stone named MGMT one of 2008’s Artists to Watch, they opened for Radiohead, toured with Beck, even played at London’s Abbey Road studios, made famous by The Beatles.

Despite their college degrees and all this wacky psychedelic business, MGMT isn’t some smarter-than-thou, meanie band that snickers behind the backs of anyone who doesn’t get some inside joke. (And if they ever were, they’ve totally grown out of that phase.) Rather, they’re quite typical of smart, educated, creative types who grew up so entrenched in pop culture that playing around with its archetypes for amusement, and inevitably using these as a starting point for art, is as natural as bored Eskimos getting their rocks off by inventing all those fancy words for snow. And, as anyone who’s ever been jaded and twenty-something knows, fun trumps apathy.

As such, when they’re not touring the world and dancing around onstage to the delight of screaming fans, the MGMT fellows are fond of throwing impromptu dance parties in “jocky rock bars,” and generally “doing weird things in public and making fools out of ourselves. We have no shame,” says Ben.

“We don’t do things to get attention, but we like to amuse ourselves in public,” Andrew clarifies.

“We were just joking about that night when you and your friends figured it all out, but nobody was writing it down,” says Ben. “In high school,I had one of those cassette-tape dictaphone things and I used to bring it out to parties and just leave it on a table. I lost it somewhere, but I used to catch really good drunken monologues from people. I don’t know who they were talking to, but it was very insightful.”

"I think someone recognized me at the bar last night,” says Andrew. That was exciting.”

Leechmongering

Trekking through the muddy Thai jungle, the leeches attacked. Leeches dropping from the heavens and landing all over us. Madness! (Luckily we were wearing thigh-high protective leech socks.) Although leeches are harmless, they make you bleed like crazy and are gross so we were all screaming and pulling leeches off each other in holy terror. But when we came upon this deadly poisonous snake, we were all pushing each other out of the way to get close enough to photograph it. That makes sense!

Meeting People is Easy

Hey! This is a very wholesome essay I wrote about meeting people in bars when I travel solo -- G-rated fun for the whole family. Was in the Globe & Mail (click on post title to read, until I figure out a better way to link to other stuff...)

As for the non-wholesome version, hmmm, to be continued? Not sure!


Strangers in the Bar
It's 1 a.m. and I can't sleep. I'm in a five-star hotel in a European country. I landed this morning and my body thinks it's daytime, so I head downstairs to the bar.

As an entertainment and travel journalist, I'm often alone in strange cities. People ask, "Don't you get lonely?" Sure, sometimes. But not as often as you may think.

I like travelling alone. I like the freedom and gypsy power of it. And I meet people everywhere I go. I make friends with ideas, landscapes, my own expectations, memories, fears. If not, even people-watching can be an intimate, socially fulfilling adventure.

(To be honest, I don't know if I'm as brave as I was 10 years ago, when I was happy to sleep in a $5 hut on a beach. These days, I'm not reporting from nations where being sold for 40 camels is a compliment, but more likely shuttling between luxury hotels, exploring new cities and realities. It's easy to be open to the unexpected.)

My usual solo strategy for conversation and laughs is to sit at the bar and befriend the bartender, band, DJ or maître d', if they seem cool. (They usually are.) Things get rolling from there.

But tonight, the main hotel bar is already closed. I am ushered instead into the residents' bar, an opulent, dimly lit drawing room with crystal chandeliers and brocade fabrics. I park it on a sofa and scope out the scene: The usual assortment of characters chilling at a five-star at 2 a.m., their archetypes exaggerated by the Dracula ambience and my jet-lagged, pinot-infused imagination.

Around the fireplace, a flock of silver-haired, suited Americans. Big-business men with loud, overbearing voices. The Group feeds off itself. They move and speak as one entity. They kind of bug me. I'm not sure why.

Across the room, a couple in their 40s. Shy, drunk, silly and, from the looks of it, about to get it on. Her laugh is too loud, his face too red. Maybe they met tonight. Her coquettish movements fit as poorly as her too-tight blouse, which she tugs at every three seconds. I want to fix it for her. He doesn't even notice, probably preoccupied by his own fidgety discomfort and anticipation of what-just-might-go-down-if-he-plays-his-cards-right.

Completing the dramatis personae are a pair of clumsy jeans-and-trainers-clad blokes sprawled on a couch drinking pints. They stare at me. Early 30s, British accents. They call out names of exotic countries.

"Egypt!"

"Lithuania!"

Odd. They look at me again. I opt for the wave, which they ignore. They look away. Embarrassing. But somehow, I'm not. In the real world, my last-kid-picked-in-the-playground syndrome would kick in. I would cringe and feel like a loser. But this isn't the real world. It's late-night, jet-lagged, Euro-world, and I really don't care.

I sip my wine. I look up. Geography Boy 1 has vanished. Geography Boy 2 is grinning at me, but not in a leering way. I smile back. He's coming over. He seems all right, and not like he's trying to pick me up or he would have made some cheesy move an hour ago.

"Hey," he says, sitting on the couch across from me.

"Hi," I say. "Where did your friend go?"

"He went to bed. We have a meeting tomorrow."

Fascinating stuff, I know. He travels all the time for work. (Which explains their prior city shout-outs.) He is my age, funny, married. We talk about travel. And music. It's cool. And easy. Because travel creates a transient reality that makes shy folks confident and strangers BFFs. You will probably never see these people again, so why not be cautiously open? (Key word: cautiously. Also, selectively.)

And, after days alone in foreign lands, speaking with someone who also loves Fleetwood Mac, or who cracks up at the same part of a movie, or who dealt with a breakup by fleeing across an ocean, can feel like coming home. At least for the length of a conversation. And home is what I'm searching for, in all my travels, every day, every curious gaze.

One of my favourite parts of life is locking eyes with someone for the first time and getting each other instantly. On the other extreme are the weirdos. On a flight from Spain to Italy, I met one seemingly normal local who, after an hour of chatting, offered me a ride on the back of his scooter. ("You like ze Vespa?") Something seemed off, so I pried for more information. Good call. Turns out, "You like ze Vespa" meant "I want to perform an unsolicited and totally weird striptease dance for you." So, no, I don't like the Vespa.

I tell this story to Geo Boy.

"My Vespa's parked outside," he says. We laugh. Suddenly, I notice the businessmen have vanished. The awkward couple, gone. We exchange e-mail addresses, walk to the elevator, press the button, get in. He pushes 2. I push 8.

Ding. Doors open. "It was great chatting with you, I'll drop you an e-mail."

"You too," I say. "G'night."

Doors close. I know he won't, but that's okay. I'm on travel time, and I've learned that the real connections do last. I wonder who I will meet tomorrow.

Awesome personified

The coolest guys in Chiang Mai... or the world!

Me and Yoko Ono

I interviewed Yoko Ono. For the Globe & Mail when she cruised into town for the Bed-In anniversary where she shacked up with Lennon at Montreal's Queen E hotel. I don't have a photo of myself with her because... well, I don't do that, so here's a picture of just me. Isn't it all nice and literary looking? Susan Moss took it when we were covering Pop Montreal together for SPIN.com all impromptu and spontaneous. So yeah, Yoko. She was one of the coolest women I've met, more than a muse -- an artist and an activist and way ahead of her time. (I can do a pretty good Yoko imitation now, actually!)

Here's the piece in its uncut glory:

Forty years ago, celebrity newlyweds John Lennon and Yoko Ono shacked up at Montreal's Queen Elizabeth Hotel. They put on pyjamas, cleared out the furniture (the bed stayed), and invited a curious world into Room 1742 to witness their week-long Bed-In for Peace. To raise public awareness for world peace and protest the Vietnam War, the beatific lovers received hundreds of visitors and wrote and recorded hit song "Give Peace a Chance." Today, as John and Yoko's peace message remains indisputably relevant, locals of a certain age seem to remember the Montreal bed-in with the wonder and nostalgia of a dream. Its emotional resonance lives on.

As such, the Montreal Museum of Fine Arts celebrates the Bed-In's 40th birthday with an exhibit called The Peace Ballad of John and Yoko. (The show opens tomorrow and runs until June 21. Admission is free.) Ono -- an accomplished conceptual artist who will receive a lifetime achievement award at the Venice Biennale in June -- breezed in from New York for a press conference yesterday. Wearing a black blazer and tiny sunglasses, hat perched coquettishly atop her head, she looks like a chic pixie. Soft-spoken and smiling at 76, she sweetly and vaguely answered a dozen brief questions about peace, art, and Lennon from the hundred-or-so media members hoping to catch a glimpse of the controversial pop icon.

"The idea was to allow people to invade our space, in a way, our private space, and make it into art," said Ono about the bed-in during an earlier phone interview. "Both of us were very shy people. But we did it."

The interactive museum exhibit is complete with a bed, piano, and soundscape exploring [the couple’s artistic and political collaboration and the legacy of songs like “Imagine.” Also featured are personal drawings, photos, films, and works of art -- many loaned by Ono.

“The thing is, I'm not one of those people who, when a friend comes to my apartment I say, 'Look at this, isn't this great, John gave it to me,’” she giggled on the phone. “But this is a very important show, it is speaking of imagining peace, so of course I will try to accommodate."

John and Yoko's Montreal bed-in was actually their second; their first was in Amsterdam, Holland two months prior. Both were part of Ono and her late husband’s “international campaign for peace,” which included concerts, billboards, and that famous New York Times ad. (It read: “War is Over! If You Want it. Happy Christmas from John and Yoko.”) Today, Ono carries on their life's work. In 2007, she unveiled the Imagine Peace Tower in Reykjavík, Iceland -- a massive tower of light in Lennon's memory.

"The awareness of peace is very, very strong around the world now," she said. "Together, it's making a big force. I call it a sort of peace industry. When we started doing it, there were very few people who really wanted to be active in getting world peace, and now I think ninety-nine percent of people in the world are thinking about it."

Such vaguely optimistic pronouncements often get Ono in trouble with literal-minded critics, who reprove her for equating visualization with action. (During the press conference, for instance, she said we have to just imagine world peace to make it a reality, and “It’s time for action! Action is peace. I love you!” ) But whether or not you’re down with esoteric philosophy, this idealism is what makes John and Yoko's message effective and timeless. It’s also a key part of her art. Plus, she's making art, not public policy.

"Artists are freer than politicians who are bound by red tape or whatever," she said about art's role in peacemaking. "We can do a lot. Also, we work not just on a conscious level but on a subconscious level as well.”

Ono’s own artistic career has been all about risk with purpose. Born in Japan, during the 1960s she was associated with the Fluxus movement and New York’s avant-garde arts scene, known for her ahead-of-her-time performance art. (In 1964’s Cut Piece, members of the audience cut off pieces of her clothing.) She’s also made her mark in photography, film, and music (with the Plastic Ono Band and other projects).

"I always wanted to surpass myself, I was always thinking about what's next," she recalled. "Going to the next level in terms of music, or performance art, or whatever... I wanted to push the horizon of what's possible in each medium. That was my life, to take risks in my artwork all the time. And then I met John -- and the two rebels met.”

Ono said Lennon helped her grow from a "lone wolf just working by myself" to understanding how to create as a team. "It's very unusual, I think, that it happens that way,” she mused about collaborating with her husband. “We were very lucky. Actually, John was more experienced with working with a partner, like Paul [McCartney] and all that. So I had to learn that from him. 'Partner, OK!'"

Recently, she's brought those skills back to the studio, where she's recording with their 33-year old son, musician Sean Lennon. "It's working out very well," she said proudly. (Sean Lennon also played on his mother’s 1995 album, Rising.)

Although Montreal wasn’t the couple’s first bed-in destination choice (Lennon had been denied entry into the U.S. because of a marijuana arrest) Ono shares the public’s soft spot for that city at that moment in time. “Canada meant a lot to us hippies in those days! We had a kind of respect and feeling of romanticism towards Canada for being a country where people are more together and liberal,and the ideas are wise and progressive. Montreal, especially, means a lot to me because of all the memories I have with John. It was our honeymoon as well.”

The Icelandic Invasion

Ok, so maybe this story I wrote for Zink magazine is about last year's festival but it was super fun with little Bjork people running around everywhere and crazy parties and sexy clean air.

THE ICELANDIC INVASION
It was definitely their first kiss, I could tell by the way she gasped, shocked and delighted, and how he touched her face. Meanwhile, onstage was hometown electro-pop band FM Belfast and twenty or so of their friends, dancing up a storm with various tambourines, cowbells, Casio synths, and a crowd-surfing dude in a bear suit. Sporting cardigans and bowties, the gleeful ensemble played hit after danceable hit. The crowd went wild, singing, jumping and grooving in sexy, hipster celebration. It was easy to forget that just days prior, this country’s economy had collapsed. Banks gone bankrupt. People’s savings lost. Yet when life makes no sense, what else is there to do but party? And, maybe, fight. Suddenly, a cherubic-looking blonde beside make-out couple started screaming at a fellow who was getting grabby. She shoved him hard, ready to throw down.

Luckily, he backed off, but the occasional close call is part of the fun of any music festival, and Iceland Airwaves -- though mostly about optimism, passion for music, and uplifting vibes as per above -- is no exception. Sponsored in part by Icelandair, the festival’s tenth edition attracted 4,500 music fans and industry members (forty percent from abroad) to Reykjavik, Iceland’s capital, for four days of shows and a conference.

Of 180 performances, about thirty were by international acts like CSS, Vampire Weekend, Yelle, Biffy Clyro, White Lies, Handsome Furs, Final Fantasy and more. Yet the festival’s highlights were its Icelandic artists, who ranged in style from indie rock to black metal, electro to folk. My favorite locals shows included: Hellvar, an adorable singer/songwriter who sounds like Björk, looks like Björk, but guess what, she’s not Björk! Reykjavík!, the metal band whose raging set in a horse stable was completely insane. Parachutes, whose cinematic soundscapes are reminiscent of Sigur Rós. Vicky, the almost all-girl metal band (drummer’s a dude) with mohawks as sharp as their songs. Gus Gus, hardly new, but their thumping electronic set got thousands dancing. Seabear, a folk-pop buzz band whose music you’ll soon hear on Gossip Girl.

I wondered what might link the scene’s diverse sounds. “One shared characteristic is playfulness,” said Iceland Music Export’s Anna Hildur. “The lack of thinking that you have to fit into a formula. This is liberating. It means people are doing things on their own terms.” Floating in the Atlantic (North West of the United Kingdom) Iceland’s isolation certainly breathes creative freedom into its musicians. However, it’s tough to build international audiences. “How can you compete when you live in a country with a population of 300,000,” said Ms. Hildur. “If an artist wants to go on tour, just the flight is a considerable cost.”

Reykjavik (pop 120,000) is a small, cute, super clean town of stylish shops, galleries, cafés, and street art. Rainbows appear overhead more often than some rockers change socks. The crisp air sometimes smells like sulphur due to hot geothermal seawater that flows from the taps. Folklore tells of elves and Vikings, and people are listed in the phone book by their first name. Yet Icelanders are hip. People I met were sophisticated, educated, and well-traveled, with an uncorrupted softness about them -- a directness in the way they speak and look you in the eye. Plus, they know how to dance.

Catching a dozen shows a night, I trotted between venues like the Reykjavik Art Museum, glitzy club Nasa, beautiful old theater Idno and crowded bars Tunglid and Organ. Everywhere, I kept seeing the same faces: Jónsi Birgisson of Sigur Rós hanging out quietly in various corners, his pixie-like face framed by a cap with ear flaps. Friendly blond Reykjavik! guitarist Haukur S. Magnússon (another Iceland Music Export employee) was another frequent sighting. Also, loads of gorgeous party kids: Italians, Germans, Brits, Danes. Coquettish girls with china doll faces, miniskirts rouged cheeks, and ropes of yellow hair. Skinny jeans and sunglasses everwhere, and haircuts you could slice sharkmeat with. With long lines outside every packed venue, inside, booze flowed like the waterfalls we visited on our day off. Pushing and shoving strangers was the new black. The scene on the street at 4, 5, even 6:00 a.m. was equally rowdy, but still safe to walk around -- one must make a late-night stop at the hot dog or waffle stand!

Or, hit an afterparty at the Kaffibarrin bar, where local label Bedroom Community throws parties. “So, how do you feel about all these people coming to your city?” I asked a cute boy with a soft, scruffy beard and clear blue eyes. “Oh, we love it, it’s fun and exciting compared to normal,” he enthused politely before downing his beer and whisking me off to the bar’s downstairs bathroom for a secret smoke. Hey, we all need some excitement, right? Certain Icelanders would agree.

“We are running down the street in our underwear,” sing FM Belfast in the hit song “Underwear.” “’Cause Nothing. Ever. Happens here. We come from a place where we count the days... ‘Till nothing. ‘Till nothing. Until nothing....” Truth is, I have no idea if they’re talking about being bored in Iceland or something else entirely. But something has happened, and what’s next is anybody’s guess. The bewildered sentiment of most locals as to the financial crisis seemed to be, “Holy crap!” “It’s a new reality to us,”said Ms. Hildur. “It’s difficult to understand what the consequences will be like...”

The Elephant Girl

So, after riding elephants in Thailand last week, because that's how I roll, I came down with a disgusting infected rash all over my legs! Ahhh! Elephantitis! (I know, right?) Even more tragic, those elephants were awesome and made me want to run away and join the circus immediately. So the red bumps, pain, and whole mysterious-ailment-in-a-strange-country thing had me kind of freaking out, but also inspired me as I tried to figure out why this ridiculous elephant rash had gotten me so scared. I wrote an article about the whole saga for the Globe & Mail's Travel section, but alas it was cut (mostly for space). Since I had way more story to tell, here's the original in all its glory, plus some extra thoughts into which I digressed... you know, childhood and Thai massages and watching Circus of the Stars -- was that not the best show ever?

You can read the Globe version here (though I am a technologically fool and can't figure out how to make the link active, sorry. Which might be better, actually, because I'm not sure I feel positive vibes about the close-up photo of my wet and disheveled face plastered on the cover of the section): http://www.theglobeandmail.com/life/travel/falling-in-love-with-an-elephant/article1353906/

Anyway, here's the extended mix:

My legs looked like dragon fruits. Overnight, at least a hundred angry, painful, itchy red bumps had popped up all over my calves. From that day forward, the sympathetic greeting I would receive from strangers all over Thailand when checking into hotels or sitting down to dinner was, "Khun Simona, we heard you have a terrible infected skin rash." (Khun means Mr., Miss or Mrs.) "May I see?" This was usually followed by, "Ohhh, my mother got something similar at the beach. She still has scars."

Wonderful. As a media guest of the governmental ministry of tourism, my infected rash was evidently the talk of the kingdom. After a few days in Bangkok, we flew to the Northern cities and Chiang Mai and Chang Rai for jungle adventures.

Though I hadn’t noticeably freaked out, inside I was unraveling.

In one of the greatest ironies of the 21st century, this crisis of dermatology (and psychology) resulted from one of the best experiences of my life. His name was Boon Pak. He was just my type, a teenage male rescued from the circus. I posted pictures of us on Facebook: Simona and Boon Pak frolicking in the jungle. Simona and Boon Pak feeding each other bananas. He liked me too, I could tell by the way he laid his tusks on my shoulder the moment we met at Patara Elephant Farm.

Hidden among the teak trees and rice fields an hour’s drive from our posh accommodations at the Four Seasons Resort Chiang Mai, Patara is owned by hard-working idealist Theerapat (Pat) Trungprakan and his wife Dao, who are passionate about elephants and employ 25 young guys from the neighbouring hill tribes as mahouts -- elephant trainers. The sustainable breeding farm is home to 15 of Thailand’s 3,500 domestic pachyderms. (1,200 to 1,500 more live in the wild but the elephant population has been dropping steadily.) In the farm’s elephant-owner-for-a-day excursion, visitors learn to feed, bathe, care for and ride these largest of land mammals. and a CD of photos of you in various stages of quasi elephant-owning. (In a sign of the times, Patara's mahouts have also become terrific digital photographers. In between traditional duties like keeping their large charges in check and carrying our flip-flops, water bottles and sunscreen, they also snapped hundreds of professional shots.) Pat even supplies a poncho.

I didn't wear the poncho, but turns out I’m a natural. I rode Boon Pak like a pro, tucking my heels behind his ears and trusting my new friend to lead me through a thunderstorm that turned the tropical jungle into a rocky mud bath, then into the waterfall for a swim. Like most adolescents, he stopped to eat every few minutes, pulling snacks of foliage from trees and sticking his trunk into every curiosity. As did gypsies and queens before me, I relaxed into his steady rhythm and felt more calm love radiating from this creature than I have from any human. I lay flat on Boon Pak’s warm back and stared up at the rain. I had found my destiny, I was certain.

I closed my eyes and thought of Circus of the Stars. Remember that TV show from the '80s? Until now, I hadn't recalled it existed, but here I was, back in my parents bedroom in the suburb where we lived before they divorced. I remember the sparkly lady who rode the elephants, standing on their backs in red sequins, smiling like she was queen of the world.

Her uncanny sense of balance reminded me of the 95-pound Thai masseuse who a few days later walked on my back at a Koh Samui spa resort, soothing and reassuring that I'd be OK. She was ecstatic because that morning her ten year old son had arrived on the island. He had been living with her mother in Bangkok while she worked abroad for years saving money to raise him herself. Finally, that day had arrived. Like this tiny, nurturing woman with hands and feet of steel, the circus lady must have been special in some way, I remember thinking, for the elephant to let her do that, to trust her.

"Maybe you are an elephant," joked Pat. Cool! Who wouldn’t want to be an elephant? Buddhists say they bring luck -- touching a white elephant can lead to enlightenment.

"We believe the elephant is on top of the animal pyramid," Dao explained. "We believe in reincarnation. If you are an elephant in this life you will be a human in the next life."

Elephants are gentle, strong, smart, fun, empathetic, reliable and earthy. They’re also vegetarian, as I’ve been since age 12 when I lived for a year on an Israeli kibbutz. Its slaughterhouse was nothing fancy, lambs and chickens, mostly, but still wildly disturbing to play with lambs one day and the next, see them on your plate. Gross. Enough to turn me off meat for good. Animals and I understand each other. I can be myself with them more than I can with humans. But my body won’t let me -- I’m allergic. To cats, dogs, horses, and now, decreed the rash a few days later, elephants.

Everyone said I would be OK. But still the fear remained.

"Not dangerous," pronounced the dermatologist at Bangkok’s fancy Bumrungrad International Hospital. He sees this sort of thing all the time, although not this extreme, as revealed by the "ooooh," that escaped from his lips. Apparently, tiny bugs on Boon Pak’s coarse hair (likely, mites) had attacked my skin, softened from the rain and river. I was allergic to the bugs and also to elephants. He prescribed meds and sent me on my way. So much for destiny.

Keeping things in perspective, I'm fine. This is not serious. Many travelers have contracted far worse. In contrast to the gentle strength of the Buddhist culture around me, my neurotic worry felt even louder: I was faced with a dragon-fruit version of The Unknown. Ugly. Scary. I was alone, not only in this strange, beautiful country, but with the what-ifs in my head, where critters marched gleefully through my being like soldiers of the Third Reich. Yes, I do have a flair for melodrama. But hypochondria, as everyone knows, is a good Jewish trait. And considering that my long, strong pretty legs had turned into a nasty mess of welts, I don't think my reaction was entirely inappropriate.

Luckily, Thailand is full of magical distractions: Radiant monks wrapped in orange walk barefoot through villages at sunrise to beg for the day’s food. The sounds and smells of Bangkok, motorbikes, tuk-tuks and that lack of air that makes elegant ladies (and chivalrous men) carry smelling salts. The smouldering flavours of lemongrass, tamarind, ginger and jasmine that turn a simple meal into a feast. The way people bow to one another in greeting (called a wai). The ornate miniature houses -- "spirit houses" -- plunked in front of every home, because Thais believe everything has a spirit.

Including my legs. Like characters in a Tolstoy novel or ancient fable, they had taken on lives of their own. My every vulnerability seeped into those sores. I was scared. Of what? I don't know, of life. Of everything good for which I've worked and dreamed that will propel me far from the fear passed on through generations; that familiar way to connect, somehow, to our past.

Despite their regal status, elephants haven’t always had an easy ride. Throughout the 17th and 18th centuries, they were the main vehicles of Southeast Asian warfare, carrying kings to battle.In 1989, Thailand banned logging to protect forests and ecosystems and many working elephants were abandoned by owners who couldn’t afford to keep them. Poachers still hunt entire elephant families to kidnap the babies as tourist attractions, and also for their ivory tusks. (Boon Pak is especially coveted for his long, gorgeous tusks and spotted ears.)  But still, life goes on for the elephants,each with his or her own personality, their phases of existence quietly reflecting the human experience: making friends, coming of age, falling in love, growing old.

Some Thai charities and government programs focus on rescuing abused or domesticated elephants. But for this endangered species to survive, healthy elephants too must thrive and reproduce. Four babies so far were born at Patara, two sent to live in the wild as part of another government program. Pat and Dao check up on them regularly, and they’re doing OK.

Did you know elephants only sweat through their toenails?

Ten days later I’m starting to feel better, red bumps starting to deflate. But I'm tired, from fighting infection, jet lag, and the stress of the situation. (Did I mention the leeches? The day prior we went trekking through the jungle on a trail called Track of the Tiger that should have been called Track of the Leeches. But that's another story..) But I’d do it all again! For me, this is the spirit of travel; going off into new wilds to make it on your own, facing fears you didn’t know you had to grow into who you want to be.

So Boon Pak has brought me luck. Before I left Thailand, another doctor checked out the leg scene. All good. "I will remember you," he smiled. "The elephant girl!"


GETTING THERE

Cathay Pacific (www.cathaypacific.com) has excellent service from Toronto to Bangkok through Hong Kong; from Bangkok, Thai Airways and Bangkok Airways connect to Chiang Mai and Chiang Rai.
WHERE TO STAY

Four Seasons Tented Camp P.O. Box 18, Chiang Saen Post Office; 66 (0) 53 910-200; www.fourseasons.com/goldentriangle. From about $1,800 for a minimum two-night stay. Lets you feel like a 19th-century explorer in luxurious tented accommodations. Nestled in the jungle, the all-inclusive resort operates an elephant program in conjunction with the Thai Elephant Conservation Center (www.helpingelephants.org). Elephants are brought to breakfast with guests every morning.
WHAT TO DO

Patara Elephant Farm 299/22 Siwalee Rachapreuk MaeHea; 66 (0) 819 922-551; www.pataraelephantfarm.com. About $184 for a one-day excursion.
MORE INFORMATION

www.tourismthailand.org