Robi Botos Trio

Pianist Robi Botos and Jazz.fm's Jaymz Bee

Robi Botos Trio served as the opening act for Molly Johnson at the inaugural mainstage show of the 20th anniversary Toronto Jazz Festival. Botos, the 27 year old Hungarian phenom led the group with his brother Frank Botos on drums and Attila Darvas on bass. You can't swing a cat without hitting a Botos on a bandstand in Toronto these days. Robi is definitely the biggest talent, the most talked about player in this family of Hungarian musicians that now call T.dot home. In fact, he received first prize in the 2004 Montreux Jazz Festival solo piano competition. Not too shabby. Not too shabby.

The trio opened their set in the tent at Nathan Phillips Square with two of the leader's compositions "Place to Place" and "Longtime No See" both nods to his family and his Gypsy heritage. Botos' compositions feature strong melodies and unexpected, seismic shifts in rhythm. His playing on these pieces was vibrant, if a little flowery. There was a hint of the old world in his sound here, classical influence were obvious. My only complaint being the gratuitous use of grace notes...once you conjure up Frank Mills it's hard to get back into the right frame of mind. It is impossible to deny Botos' skill, but something in these first two tunes left me wanting more. It was all a little too earnest. I wanted him to dig in.

The third tune the trio played was the first standard of the set, "Summertime". Botos opened with a solo on electric piano. His sound isn't clean, even on acoustic. He has a thick, muddy quality to his playing which lends itself beautifully to electric. Darvas followed suit, abandoning his acoustic bass for an electric model. He supported Botos with a funky, Marcus Miller style popping bass solo and Frank Botos was there with a kicky backbeat. The trio's version of "Summertime' was nothing but impish, funky fun. Great stuff.

They followed that with Robi Botos' arrangement of "Footprints". It was an inventive reimagining of the standard that proved beneath all the flowery, pseudo classical stuff beats the heart of a funky, funky player. The trio finished off their set with a quiet version of "What Is This Thing Called Love" that had a beautiful, pensive ending.

It was as if Botos used this set as a sampler to show his chosen hometown the breadth and variety of his talents. We ate it up.

20 Years of the Toronto Jazz Festival

Toronto City Hall, hub of the fest.

My earliest memories of the "TD Canada Trust Toronto Jazz Festival" stem all the way back to the summer of 1989 when it was still known as the "DuMaurier Downtown Jazz Fest". I was working my very first summer job at the age of 14, pouring coffee at the Second Cup downtown. I saw a poster for the fest which had happened a week earlier. I'd missed all the fun. Booooo. And hiss. Boooo Hisss! This incident leads to a life-long fascination with incorrect signage.

Little jazz birds at the tent.

The next year, in 1990 I managed to get out to the fest for the first time. Caught a bunch of acts at Berczy Park, including a Duke Ellington tribute concert. My mind was blown. The summer of 1990 also found me with an even better summer job, selling soap at Crabtree & Evelyn. After the fest that year, I saved up all my soap money to buy a box set of Duke Ellington's RCA Victor recordings, "Black, Brown & Beige". Listened to the cassettes till they wore out.

The next couple of years found me dragging high school friends out to free shows at the parking lot at Queen and Soho and College Park. It was a great way to spend time in the summer. The Spanky Davis show alone was a great character study for a young drama student.

1993 was the year I came of age. I had graduated high school, had a larger disposable income and could now drink legally. I'd also discovered Coltrane. Safe to say, my world had changed...Considerably. I did the festival full-out. Saw this kid named Roy Hargrove play at City Hall. The Young Lion's thing was in full swing. This kid could play! And he was just my age. Saw him play three different shows that year, at Top o the Senator and at Judy Jazz in the Holiday Inn where the after hours jam session took place. Hargrove held court at the after hours jam that night. It was as if the entire room was holding its breath. Something special was happening. Boys in colourful suits were making waves.

Chandeliers lend a sense of class to the proceedings in the tent.

The years between 1994-1999 were really glory years for the Toronto Fest. The tent at King & John had lunchtime shows, after work shows, mainstage shows and midnight shows. Harbourfront Centre was home to a bunch of great shows by the lake. There was a tent in Yorkville and shows at Nathan Phillips Square at City Hall. You could go all day and all night if you wanted to, and I often did. Those were the years that I showed Jay McShann how to find the porta-pottie behind the tent, that Doc Cheatham bought me a drink, and that Ray Brown flirted shamelessly with me through his entire set at Top o the Senator. I'm not going to say that was one of my proudest moments. I won't admit to that. You can't make me.

2000 was a difficult year for the fest. Nearly cancelled because of lost backing from DuMaurier, they managed to pull of a fest with a big street party on University Avenue over Canada Day Weekend. It was an experiment that just didn't work. The next year was a year of transition with TD Canada Trust stepped in with funding. Things have settled in nicely the last few years with Nathan Phillips Square becoming the official hub of the fest. These years have brought shows from The RH Factor, Roberta Gamberini and Ed Thigpen along with a host of other greats.

Artistic Director Jim Galloway welcomes the audience to the 20th Annual Toronto Jazz Fest.

At opening night of the fest, Mayor David Miller, jazz fan, waits to go on and proclaim this "jazz week" in Toronto.

That brings us here, to 2006, and the 20th anniversary of the fest. 16 years of attending for me...half my lifetime, in fact. There's no way I'd rather spend my summer in TO. Stay tuned for reviews and photos from all the shows and workshops that I get to take in all this week!

Unrequited

I'm going to make a little confession. As if this fact wasn't completely evident from the beginning...the Robeau and I are cat people. We share our home with three of them. The furry little bastards run our lives. They're indoor cats, because if I'm being honest I don't trust them not to get themselves hurt, killed or lost. I just don't. Inside is where I like them and inside is where they'll stay.

There are, however, lots and lots of outdoor cats on our street. My best friend on the street is Chester, a boy with long light yellow fur and a sunny disposition to match. He'll cross the street to see me in the morning and talk and roll in the dirt. He's a champ. I adore him. Chester is also the only cat that I've seen hanging out with other cats on the street. He's so pleasant he just sort of befriends his neighbour's cats. They've been hanging out on his front porch most afternoons. You can't help but want to spend time with Chester.

A few doors down from us, is another story completely. Shady the cat is pretty as a picture. She's also tough. She'll bound up a tree after a squirrel. She'll hunt the other cats on the street. And she ignores the nice people a few doors down who want only to be her friend. She'll turn her back on us. She'll run away. She sits on our front lawn, sure, but she won't let us pet her. As a result, I have a terrible cat crush on her. If she let me pet her, just once, it would be like being invited to a party by the cool kid at school.

*Sigh*

And it's never going to happen.


Shady: Alert, Aloof and Awesome.

You'd never catch Tim Russert doing this.

Maury & Connie: Thanks for the memories

Sweet Jebus...what happened to her? You know who I feel the worst for here? That poor piano player. That must have been the longest five minutes of his life...he's not even playing...and look at his pained perma-grin. Poor bastard. Good Grief.

I have a lot of procrastinating to get to...

I will be premiering my second self-penned solo show this October from the 16th to the 22nd at The Bad Dog Short Play Festival!

This is the third year for this festival at the little Toronto theatre that Eye Magazine calls "a hub for the local comedy scene":

Bad Dog Theatre

Now all I have to do is dust off the script that I've been sitting on for the last year, rewrite it completely, find a Director, produce some advertising, send out press releases, rewrite the show again, memorize the material, put it on its feet, drum up an audience and see if I can remember how to eek some laughs out of said audience.

I should be able to get all that done in four months, right? That's like, what, 122 days or so?

I must be OUT of my mind...

Enough to almost make me want a bigger penis or some "hoodia"

You ever notice that when you get spam in your inbox it's often from some bot with a made up name? It seems that the names are getting more creative lately. Today I got spammed from one "Thelodius Esperanza". Does that sound like a cool cat or what?

As We Stumble Along...

Bob Martin as the Man in the Chair in the Broadway production of "The Drowsy Chaperone"
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Before it won 4 Tony Awards and a garnered a slew of Drama Desk and Critic's Circle nods, before the New York Times said that Bob Martin's "Man in the Chair is a vital addition to the gallery of Broadway archetypes" and before today's release of the Original Cast Recording, "The Drowsy Chaperone" had it's start here in Toronto. Now it seems that everyone working in the Toronto theatre community has a "Drowsy" story of their own.

Mine starts at the 1999 Toronto Fringe Festival. I was appearing in a disaster of a show called "Afterwards You Smoke". I was not the writer of this debacle, just a member of the cast. It was sheer and utter torture. Every performer has those "Waiting for Guffman" moments and this was mine. Day after day I'd go out there in front a meager house and humiliate myself. The creator/director of the show did write a song just for me that I got to perform and I think the thought that I had the opportunity to do a number that was written with me in mind sustained me. I know it's the only reason I stuck it out.

"Drowsy" was part of the Fringe that year as well and was playing at the same theatre. Every day I would run into folks from the cast, some who I knew from around The Second City and ask them how their show went. They were always pumped, always excited. They were so in love with the material, they were working with their friends, they had to turn audience members away. It was a dream. When asked how our shows went my response was generally "soul crushing, mind numbing and punishing". I felt the most sorry for the one stray audience member who couldn't get a ticket to "Drowsy" but decided to stick around and see our show. Imagine how cheated that guy must have felt.

Our review in Eye Magazine read " The majority of the cast muddles its way through mini-dramas about 3-D porn, being a newbie to the gay hustling scene and swearing on the subway (the comic "twist" being that they substitute "bleep" for whatever naughty word is intended). Of this show's many problems, perhaps the worst was the audible directions heard from offstage throughout the show."

People, I could die right now just thinking about it. Seriously.

The review for "Drowsy" in the same publication (which was glowing) ends with "This near-flawless, ambitious production ups the ante for Fringe shows".

Enough said.

The "Drowsy" story begins before the 1999 Fringe Fest though. When Toronto actors and Second City alumn Janet Vandergraff and Bob Martin got married, Lisa Lambert, who was the best man, decided to mount a production at the Rivoli for the couple's stag and doe party. It was sort of a variety night with a bunch of folks pitching in, but the highlight was this parody of a 1920's musical with Bob and Janet as the main characters. It was so well received and I imagine, so much fun to do, that they mounted it as a Fringe show. That year, at the Fringe, "Drowsy" was plucked from relative obscurity by a major Toronto theatre company. The one referred to here at CSIS. It was workshopped and a larger production was mounted. This was a big deal and most thought the end of the road for this wonderful little show. What more could you hope for? Surely not something as ambitious as Broadway. Canadians don't always think big. Happily, someone involved with this show did, and the rest, as they say, is history.

I spoke with Bob and Janet before they left for New York and they were cautiously optimistic. I cannot imagine how thrilled they must be with the way things turned out. That their wedding and friendships could inspire this kind of success, which strangely feels like it happened overnight even though I know full well it didn't, must be a wonderful feeling. It all has a real "let's put on a show in the barn" feel to it that really warms my heart.

I've been teasing the Robeau that his claim to fame with his music theatre students at Sheridan and George Brown will be that he played the piano for Bob and Janet's wedding. I'm only half joking.

Bob Martin and his lovely wife Janet at the 2006 Tony Awards:


I still get excited when I think about seeing them at the show last Sunday night on TV. I haven't missed a Tony telecast since I was in 7th grade. To know the people giving the moving acceptance speeches makes the experience all the more rewarding.

For more on this wonderful, wonderful show visit their website:

The Drowsy Chaperone

Have you ever wanted to touch anything so much?

This handwritten sign that sits in the back stairwell of my office at CSIS looks like it may well be older than me.

What do you think happens if you touch the switch? It all seems so very IMPORTANT doesn't it?

Off With Their Heads?

Hey, whatever happened to journalists taking their responsibility to question the official version of events and not simply repeat them as truth? Seriously? Where did that go?

Is it just me or have these 17 remarkably unremarkable wannabee terrorists that were arrested in Toronto this past weekend been found guilty in the media and in the court of public opinion before they've had a trial?

Is it just me or does Paula Zahn's claim on CNN that "this is tantamount to what happened in NY on 9/11 to the Canadian people" complete and utter bullshit?

WHY on earth is the media not being skeptical when these arrests happen at such a convenient time for the Harper government?

Keep us in fear and we probably will support Harper's decision to keep Canadian troops in Afghanistan another *two years* to wage war against the Taliban and other insurgents. Not as peacekeepers. Waging war.

The threat of home grown terrorism, might convince more Canadians that the Afghan war is necessary even though prior to these arrest support for the war was at an all time low. Illogical? Hell yes. But also effective. Just ask Carl Rove.

WHY on earth aren't we talking about the fact that the arrests also come at a time when Parliament is conducting a mandatory five-year review of Canada's new anti-terror laws? Before the arrests, there was a possibility that parliamentarians might recommend that the Harper government ease up on some of those laws. Somehow that seems impossible now. You know, now that we've had "our 9/11". Please. What a joke. To even hint that this is the case belittles the events of September 11, 2001.

I take threats on my country and my way of life seriously. Even if they come from politicians and political agencies instead of "terrorists".

6.6.6.

Happy Apocalypse Day! The fact that Mia Farrow (shudder) is releasing a movie today not enough to sufficiently creep you out?

Observe...as President Bush beckons the electorate to come sit on his knee. Is that a big shiny nickel that he just pulled out from behind their ears? It is! Look at that electorate, it's a big, shiny piece of discrimination! Can you believe that was lurking there behind your very own ear?! You should wash more, electorate. Also, never mind that the constitution was established to give rights - not systematically remove them. And never mind that this "issue" never comes up unless it's an election year. Oh, and if you know what's good for you, forget about Iraq, Katrina and the economy. "It's the queers getting hitched, stupid".

Stand in awe...as our very own government here in Canada takes down a terror cell! Seventeen men and boys of a Muslim background planning to blow up all kinds of landmarks in my hometown. What happened to these kids? Why are they so filled with hate? Why is our very own government using the fear mongering tactics cultivated South of the border on it's public? Why can't the folks at CSIS (the *real* CSIS, not the one I work for) shut their mouths?! Aren't they supposed to be SPYING or something??? And why are the idiot rednecks vandalizing mosques? Oh, right, cause they're idiot rednecks.

Be amazed...as White House Press Secretary Tony Snow cannot define "civil rights". OK, maybe you're not amazed. Maybe it's not so hard to believe that when put on the spot, a member of the Bush administration can't define the very thing they trample on a daily basis. The saddest part? Snow's the only one in that crowd that I thought would have had a shot at answering a question like that.

Yeah, 6.6.6. is just like any other day. Welcome to the sideshow that is the world we live in.

I'm off to get the microchip that's been implanted in my head adjusted.

If he had saved, he wouldn't be here...

"If you liked the Miracle Worker than you'll LOVE Fame Becomes Me" reads the tagline for the new Martin Short musical previewing in Toronto before its Broadway previews begin July 22nd. As I've stated here on ol' Bloggy McBloggerson I don't generally like to talk about my day job at "CSIS". Because, you know, I like my job and I don't want to cock that up by blabbing about it on the internet. That said, you'll find no inside dope here, just my impressions of a new show that I would have gone to see even if I didn't work at "CSIS" and got my tickets for free.

Now, I'm both a theatre and comedy nerd and I was born and raised in Toronto so it follows that I'm a HUGE Martin Short fan. What I've discovered through the process of watching this show get mounted, much to my shock and dismay, is that not everyone is. What's not to like? Brilliant writing, characters, high energy, amazing showmanship, singing and that good ol' need to entertain! What could be better? I know taste is subjective and all that, and I try to be inclusive (hey, I'm Canadian) but I have to say in this particular instance that if you don't love Short - you're wrong. He is brilliant, I'm right and your wrong.

"Fame Becomes Me" which was co-created by Short, Marc Shaiman and Scott Whittman, who the publicity material says "got tired of counting their money from 'Hairspray'" (come on - even the publicity material is funnier than most shows) is a laugh a minute take on the recent rash of solo confessional shows put on by big stars. They satirize everything from Billy Crystal's earnest childhood angst to Elaine Stritch's abuse problems. Short and his super talented cast which includes the impish Shaiman onstage, tear it up with one great number after another. While they skewer show business personalities and conventions left, right and centre you get the feeling that just because they're poking fun at the likes of Judy Garland, Tommy Tune, Sondheim and Bob Fosse it doesn't mean they're not genuine fans of the very things they're making fun of. It's the gentlest of satire. Short loves the business he's in too much to come off as the least bit mean spirited.

The second half of the show finds Short inhabiting his latest comic creation Jiminy Glick who takes a poor, unsuspecting audience member up onstage for an interview. The night before we attended the guest was Mayor David Miller. The night after we attended Eugene Levy was the interviewee. The night we were there? The poor Robeau got pulled onstage. I won't rehash the details, but I will say that after the show he got mauled by four different groups of senior citizens who thought he was just great (hey, it's a niche market). I will also say that Short as Glick endowed him with the moniker "Ol' Dead-Eyed Jim". Needless to say, that lovely new nickname has already made a few appearances at our house!

Short closes the show with a truly beautiful ballad, penned by Shaiman which explains "If he'd saved he wouldn't have met us". I loved every minute of this show and can't wait to see it again. I predict raves in New York and more Tony Awards in 2007 than you can shake a stick at. You heard it here first.

For more on this great show including video clips of the hysterically funny commercial vist:

Martin Short: Fame Becomes Me

Hello, Friend!

What happens when two of your favourite people in the entire world decide to procreate? Insta-pal!

Meet Samuel Michael Edward Cline



Sam's lucky parents Mark and Chelsea are already rearing him like old pros and to his credit Sammy boy is already displaying signs of great personality even though he was only five days old when we met him.

Can't wait to get to know my new pal better this summer. I can explain to him that even though he is adorable with a capital aaawww in this picture, it's funny because it looks like he may have been sent the house in the cardboard box that's sitting behind him. That's right Sam, babies come from cardboard boxes. Don't let your folks tell you any different...

Four Girls Walk Into A Penitentiary

Or at least we thought that was what was going to happen when we crossed the border with our trunk full of goodies. Convinced that the border guards were going to give us a hard time we all took off our sunglasses, put on our real glasses (in a failed attempt to look brainy) and started getting into character. "We are wine nerds who went to Upstate NY for the winery experience...we only did a very limited amount of shopping...PLEASE DON'T LOCK US UP OR MAKE US PAY EXTRA TAXES!!!!!!"

Once we rolled into the lineup we noticed that we totally chose the wrong wicket - our border guy was clearly very mean. He kept getting out of his little booth and looking in people's trunks. He could have been giving them cavity searches for all we knew. Meanwhile, the wicket next to ours was moving at a break neck speed. Cars were flying through there. We were convinced that our futures as we had imagined them were now over.

Then, the god of girl-weekends everywhere smiled down on us and the guard's shift ended right before he got to our car. The new kid was bright eyed, bushy tailed and a little overwhelmed by a car full of girls in glasses. We were home free! We made it back to Canada with all of our contra and "Olive Garden" food hangovers. DJ VL never did solve the mystery of where all those support our troops bumper-magnets come from though...that is one case that is going to have to remain open. Nothing says "I'm committed to a cause" like a bumper MAGNET now does it? Seriously people, if you don't support your troops enough to devalue your car to say so...

Once back in "our home and native land" we drove through the 1000 Islands (very scenic) to Kingston, Ontario where Momster was going to catch the train back to Ottawa. Kingston is a beautiful town steeped in history. It's the birthplace of John A MacDonald, Canada's first Primeminister, don't ya know!

Where we thought we were going to end up, Kingston Pen:




Kingston really is a pretty town:




After walking around for a little bit we found a nice little pub that Momster had been to before. We sat on their patio and rang the weekend out with chicken wings and beer. The wings were cooked in a BBQ sauce they called "ghetto" sauce. It was made on the premises and was a secret recipe. At the end of the meal, Zee Noixy stops our cute server in his tracks with "come on, this sauce...it's Kraft right?". Poor kid didn't know what hit him! At the pub:


Momster


DJ VL


Zee Noixy Prepares


Marcia Cross?!?! What did you do with Zee Noixy?!

After bidding Momster adieu at the train station by blasting "Don't You Forget About Me" from the car radio (it just happened to come on - we didn't plan it - although it did make for a memorable exit) we drove back to the T.dot and got back to our normal, "Bath & BodyWorks" deprived lives.

Four Girls Walk OUT of An Outlet Mall...

Well, after our marathon shop last weekend we stumbled on an Upstate NY winery. Huzzah! You could get 6 samples for $1. Toto, I don't think we're in the Niagara Region anymore.

But, umm, Montezuma winery? That's not creepy at all..."I think I taste a hint of oak, some ripe apple and just a liiiiiitle REVENGE!"



Slightly buzzed from our wine tasting we then happened upon giant road signs for the "Women's Rights National Historic Park". There was a strange irony attached to seeing that on the side of the road after we had enacted our particular brand of female bonding via discount shopping and wine tastings. Here are the girls demonstrating their rights as modern day feminists to be as prim or as butch as they want. Because that's what feminism is all about folks, choices!



With all of this now under our belts we set out to do the three things that every Canadian girl does when she is South of the border and I'm not talkin' about Fleet Week here. First, find a "Bath & BodyWorks" and buy your own body weight in Anti-Bacterial Moisturizing Lotion with Vitamin E, B5 and Wheat Germ Oil in lovely fragrances like Cherry Blossom and Vanilla. That ritual is immediately followed by the "Why don't we have Bath & BodyWorks in Canada dance of grief". Second, find an "Olive Garden" and reminisce about how every single time one of you had a birthday in high school it involved dinner at the "Olive Garden". Eat your body weight in salad and breadsticks. Third, find a "Target" because "Target" is awesome and "Zellers", the equivalent to "Target" in Canada sucks hard.



As Momster pointed out, between our fierce shopping, and the way we gorged ourselves on breadsticks, we were acting like we lived in Communist Russia. It's no wonder Americans are confused by Canadians...

The next morning we left the place we stayed the night and headed back to Kingston, Ontario. Did we stay at a funeral home or a Ramada in Syracuse, New York? I'll never tell...