By Christopher Foulds
He grew up listening to urban music and wanting to become a rapper while chasing his dreams of skiing for a living.
But it was the crooning of two generations of country stars that led to a cowboy hat on the head that now turns out some of the best lyrics in music today.
“It was Brad Paisley and George Jones on a trip to Tofino that really got me into country,” Ridley Bent recounted minutes before he took to the stage at this year’s Merritt Mountain Music Festival.
Bent’s music is weighted heavily on lyrics and the man who now calls Winnipeg home pens songs that tell tales — tall, sad, funny, irreverent, profound.
He cites Lyle Lovett as a fellow singer with whom he would like to share a stage — and it makes sense, considering both share a talent for telling stories that are linked to damn fine music.
Through his songwriting and his stage presence, Bent is equal parts Hank Williams Sr., Lovett, George Jones and every other classic country storyteller.
Compared to the generic, mass-produced schlock from Nashville that plagues country-music radio airwaves today, Bent’s creations evoke a style that is legendary and lasts.
Go ahead. Drop a few bucks and download Buckle and Boots (‘That rough-stock truck stop has still got my pictures up, so that’s where I eat my beans’).
Or Nine Inch Nails (‘I got her tool collection, she got my working man’s blues, she got my Tom T. Hall, I got her Husker Du’).
Or Suicidewinder (‘I said I’m Johnny Cash when I’m drinking, I’m the Clash when I’m thinking . . .”).
Now, compare this richness with the vanilla stylings of Rascal Flatts, an abomination and aberration — granted, a very popular aberration — on the country-music scene, a band that is to country what Christopher Cross was to pop in the early 1980s.
Lots of sales, lots of awards, lots of money — and a whole lotta grimacing when looking back.
While Bent may never reach the stratospheric heights of popularity currently occupied by the wafer-thin offerings of many alleged country acts, he has already surpassed them in the realm of importance.
How he does what he does is a question posed to every artist.
How does Bent come up with such spectacular songs, again and again, be it on his latest album, Buckles and Boots, or his debut creation, Blam?
“Sometimes a line in a book becomes a song,” he said.
“Sometimes there’s a chord in the guitar that makes you go, ‘Ooh, that sounds good.’
“Sometimes you just want to tell a story.”
Some of those stories are somewhat autobiographical.
Some aren’t.
“I just imagined myself as a rodeo star,” he said of the eponymous track from Buckles and Boots.
“I’ve never even ridden a bull. I’m past that stuff.”
With a new album in the works — most of the songs are done, including Yukon Belle, which he performed in Merritt — the popularity of Bent is growing.
He played Merritt on opening night (Thursday), yet had to be in Evansburg, Alta. the next day and in Winnipeg the day after that.
As for his bad luck in Kamloops last month (Bent was to headline the June 17 Country 103 show in McDonald Park, a concert that was cancelled due to a lightning storm), he is hoping to take his tales to the Tournament Capital soon — and mentioned he wouldn’t mind sharing those stories at a venue like Cactus Jack’s Saloon.
Here’s hoping management of the country bar are reading this.
For more on Bent, go online to ridleybent.ca.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Ridley Bent is telling some damn fine tales
By Christopher Foulds
He grew up listening to urban music and wanting to become a rapper while chasing his dreams of skiing for a living.
But it was the crooning of two generations of country stars that led to a cowboy hat on the head that now turns out some of the best lyrics in music today.
“It was Brad Paisley and George Jones on a trip to Tofino that really got me into country,” Ridley Bent recounted minutes before he took to the stage at this year’s Merritt Mountain Music Festival.
Bent’s music is weighted heavily on lyrics and the man who now calls Winnipeg home pens songs that tell tales — tall, sad, funny, irreverent, profound.
He cites Lyle Lovett as a fellow singer with whom he would like to share a stage — and it makes sense, considering both share a talent for telling stories that are linked to damn fine music.
Through his songwriting and his stage presence, Bent is equal parts Hank Williams Sr., Lovett, George Jones and every other classic country storyteller.
Compared to the generic, mass-produced schlock from Nashville that plagues country-music radio airwaves today, Bent’s creations evoke a style that is legendary and lasts.
Go ahead. Drop a few bucks and download Buckle and Boots (‘That rough-stock truck stop has still got my pictures up, so that’s where I eat my beans’).
Or Nine Inch Nails (‘I got her tool collection, she got my working man’s blues, she got my Tom T. Hall, I got her Husker Du’).
Or Suicidewinder (‘I said I’m Johnny Cash when I’m drinking, I’m the Clash when I’m thinking . . .”).
Now, compare this richness with the vanilla stylings of Rascal Flatts, an abomination and aberration — granted, a very popular aberration — on the country-music scene, a band that is to country what Christopher Cross was to pop in the early 1980s.
Lots of sales, lots of awards, lots of money — and a whole lotta grimacing when looking back.
While Bent may never reach the stratospheric heights of popularity currently occupied by the wafer-thin offerings of many alleged country acts, he has already surpassed them in the realm of importance.
How he does what he does is a question posed to every artist.
How does Bent come up with such spectacular songs, again and again, be it on his latest album, Buckles and Boots, or his debut creation, Blam?
“Sometimes a line in a book becomes a song,” he said.
“Sometimes there’s a chord in the guitar that makes you go, ‘Ooh, that sounds good.’
“Sometimes you just want to tell a story.”
Some of those stories are somewhat autobiographical.
Some aren’t.
“I just imagined myself as a rodeo star,” he said of the eponymous track from Buckles and Boots.
“I’ve never even ridden a bull. I’m past that stuff.”
With a new album in the works — most of the songs are done, including Yukon Belle, which he performed in Merritt — the popularity of Bent is growing.
He played Merritt on opening night (Thursday), yet had to be in Evansburg, Alta. the next day and in Winnipeg the day after that.
As for his bad luck in Kamloops last month (Bent was to headline the June 17 Country 103 show in McDonald Park, a concert that was cancelled due to a lightning storm), he is hoping to take his tales to the Tournament Capital soon — and mentioned he wouldn’t mind sharing those stories at a venue like Cactus Jack’s Saloon.
Here’s hoping management of the country bar are reading this.
For more on Bent, go online to ridleybent.ca.
He grew up listening to urban music and wanting to become a rapper while chasing his dreams of skiing for a living.
But it was the crooning of two generations of country stars that led to a cowboy hat on the head that now turns out some of the best lyrics in music today.
“It was Brad Paisley and George Jones on a trip to Tofino that really got me into country,” Ridley Bent recounted minutes before he took to the stage at this year’s Merritt Mountain Music Festival.
Bent’s music is weighted heavily on lyrics and the man who now calls Winnipeg home pens songs that tell tales — tall, sad, funny, irreverent, profound.
He cites Lyle Lovett as a fellow singer with whom he would like to share a stage — and it makes sense, considering both share a talent for telling stories that are linked to damn fine music.
Through his songwriting and his stage presence, Bent is equal parts Hank Williams Sr., Lovett, George Jones and every other classic country storyteller.
Compared to the generic, mass-produced schlock from Nashville that plagues country-music radio airwaves today, Bent’s creations evoke a style that is legendary and lasts.
Go ahead. Drop a few bucks and download Buckle and Boots (‘That rough-stock truck stop has still got my pictures up, so that’s where I eat my beans’).
Or Nine Inch Nails (‘I got her tool collection, she got my working man’s blues, she got my Tom T. Hall, I got her Husker Du’).
Or Suicidewinder (‘I said I’m Johnny Cash when I’m drinking, I’m the Clash when I’m thinking . . .”).
Now, compare this richness with the vanilla stylings of Rascal Flatts, an abomination and aberration — granted, a very popular aberration — on the country-music scene, a band that is to country what Christopher Cross was to pop in the early 1980s.
Lots of sales, lots of awards, lots of money — and a whole lotta grimacing when looking back.
While Bent may never reach the stratospheric heights of popularity currently occupied by the wafer-thin offerings of many alleged country acts, he has already surpassed them in the realm of importance.
How he does what he does is a question posed to every artist.
How does Bent come up with such spectacular songs, again and again, be it on his latest album, Buckles and Boots, or his debut creation, Blam?
“Sometimes a line in a book becomes a song,” he said.
“Sometimes there’s a chord in the guitar that makes you go, ‘Ooh, that sounds good.’
“Sometimes you just want to tell a story.”
Some of those stories are somewhat autobiographical.
Some aren’t.
“I just imagined myself as a rodeo star,” he said of the eponymous track from Buckles and Boots.
“I’ve never even ridden a bull. I’m past that stuff.”
With a new album in the works — most of the songs are done, including Yukon Belle, which he performed in Merritt — the popularity of Bent is growing.
He played Merritt on opening night (Thursday), yet had to be in Evansburg, Alta. the next day and in Winnipeg the day after that.
As for his bad luck in Kamloops last month (Bent was to headline the June 17 Country 103 show in McDonald Park, a concert that was cancelled due to a lightning storm), he is hoping to take his tales to the Tournament Capital soon — and mentioned he wouldn’t mind sharing those stories at a venue like Cactus Jack’s Saloon.
Here’s hoping management of the country bar are reading this.
For more on Bent, go online to ridleybent.ca.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Having a ball with a baker's dozen of pure energy
When Boy No. 7 decided to see where the bowling balls came from — by pushing one back down the automated chute and freezing two lanes — we thought the zaniness had reached its apex.
When Boy No. 3 wanted to see how far Boy No. 4’s hat could fly down the lane — and followed the chapeau down the freshly waxed corridor — we thought we’d get some kind of reprimand.
And when the last of 13 boys, all Grade 2 balls of squealing energy, finally traded rented bowling shoes for beloved scuffed sneakers and wandered into the sunlight with their parents, we realized just how exhausting the past two hours had been.
It was his eighth birthday and, at his age, our son has now lived exactly half his life in Kamloops.
So, to mark the occasion, he chose an old favourite — Falcon Lanes in Valleyview — to celebrate the fact his age now matches the luckiest number in most of Asia.
As with most previous birthdays, plenty of invitations was sent out — 12 in all, each one placed in his little hands as he set off to school one sunny morning.
But we figured we’d be lucky to receive six or seven confirmations.
There is our son’s legendary forgetfulness — our scatterbrained offspring once left the living room to take a much-needed pee and, somewhere in those 12 steps between couch and commode, managed to forget to hit the bathroom in favour of building a complex Lego motorcycle for the next hour.
And there is the everyday amnesia of Grade 2 boys, in whose backpacks can be found enough dated papers to create an impressive archive.
(If you have one of these creatures, go now and poke around his backpack. Yes, that is indeed the kindergarten poem he was supposed to show you two years ago. And, no, I don’t think that fuzzy round thing is still edible.)
Besides which, our boy’s birthday party landed smack in the middle of the annual mini-soccer tourney, a three-day extravaganza that saw us driving brother and sister to a mind-boggling number of games, some at the exact time and at inexact locations.
Surely our 1 p.m. birthday party would mean far fewer than a full roster of birthday invitees.
Nope.
Much to our son’s delight, all 12 boys appeared — and this dirty baker’s dozen made Lee Marvin and his crew look squeaky clean in comparison.
Oh, they are wonderful kids, each and every one.
But, as I quipped to a mom who mercifully picked up her son five minutes earlier than planned, the War On Terror would have easily been won had Bush, Blair and company managed to lock bin Laden and his brood in a roomful of eight-year-old boys
Al-Qaeda’s official flag would now be white — and waving.
As we watched the 13 boys interact, it became a fascinating study of alpha males and sensitive souls, quiet leaders and eager followers, class clowns and cut-throat competitors.
Add sugar-laden drinks, pizza and birthday cupcakes and it became a live-action sitcom of 13 monkeys fighting over birthday presents, stealing sips from each other’s slushees, daring each another to go deeper into the girls’ washroom and one-upping one another with the latest karate/judo/taekwondo move gleaned at martial-arts class that week.
And every second at maximum volume.
It is innocence embraced and energy as pure as anything delivered by nature.
Frenzied would be the description as it happened; inspiring would be the descriptor after the fact.
Dare we do it again when our boy turns nine?
Absolutely — but are there any bowling alleys in Afghanistan?
When Boy No. 3 wanted to see how far Boy No. 4’s hat could fly down the lane — and followed the chapeau down the freshly waxed corridor — we thought we’d get some kind of reprimand.
And when the last of 13 boys, all Grade 2 balls of squealing energy, finally traded rented bowling shoes for beloved scuffed sneakers and wandered into the sunlight with their parents, we realized just how exhausting the past two hours had been.
It was his eighth birthday and, at his age, our son has now lived exactly half his life in Kamloops.
So, to mark the occasion, he chose an old favourite — Falcon Lanes in Valleyview — to celebrate the fact his age now matches the luckiest number in most of Asia.
As with most previous birthdays, plenty of invitations was sent out — 12 in all, each one placed in his little hands as he set off to school one sunny morning.
But we figured we’d be lucky to receive six or seven confirmations.
There is our son’s legendary forgetfulness — our scatterbrained offspring once left the living room to take a much-needed pee and, somewhere in those 12 steps between couch and commode, managed to forget to hit the bathroom in favour of building a complex Lego motorcycle for the next hour.
And there is the everyday amnesia of Grade 2 boys, in whose backpacks can be found enough dated papers to create an impressive archive.
(If you have one of these creatures, go now and poke around his backpack. Yes, that is indeed the kindergarten poem he was supposed to show you two years ago. And, no, I don’t think that fuzzy round thing is still edible.)
Besides which, our boy’s birthday party landed smack in the middle of the annual mini-soccer tourney, a three-day extravaganza that saw us driving brother and sister to a mind-boggling number of games, some at the exact time and at inexact locations.
Surely our 1 p.m. birthday party would mean far fewer than a full roster of birthday invitees.
Nope.
Much to our son’s delight, all 12 boys appeared — and this dirty baker’s dozen made Lee Marvin and his crew look squeaky clean in comparison.
Oh, they are wonderful kids, each and every one.
But, as I quipped to a mom who mercifully picked up her son five minutes earlier than planned, the War On Terror would have easily been won had Bush, Blair and company managed to lock bin Laden and his brood in a roomful of eight-year-old boys
Al-Qaeda’s official flag would now be white — and waving.
As we watched the 13 boys interact, it became a fascinating study of alpha males and sensitive souls, quiet leaders and eager followers, class clowns and cut-throat competitors.
Add sugar-laden drinks, pizza and birthday cupcakes and it became a live-action sitcom of 13 monkeys fighting over birthday presents, stealing sips from each other’s slushees, daring each another to go deeper into the girls’ washroom and one-upping one another with the latest karate/judo/taekwondo move gleaned at martial-arts class that week.
And every second at maximum volume.
It is innocence embraced and energy as pure as anything delivered by nature.
Frenzied would be the description as it happened; inspiring would be the descriptor after the fact.
Dare we do it again when our boy turns nine?
Absolutely — but are there any bowling alleys in Afghanistan?
When they look in the mirror, they should see a Mountie
The caller was agitated, irritated, breathing hard and swearing up a storm. He was at the end of his rope and wanted me to know about it.
The origin of his angst was the Abbotsford Police Department and its adopt-a-criminal program of the mid- and late-1990s.
He was one of the repeat criminals cops in the Fraser Valley city had targeted — and he had had enough.
Between venomous vitriol directed at specific Abbotsford Police officers, and at yours truly for reporting on their decision to babysit the city’s criminal irritants, the man who could not go straight told me his life in the Bible Belt was untenable.
“I’m getting out of here and moving to Alberta,” he said between spastic verbal jerks of profanity.
When I relayed his consternation to a detective I knew, the cop was all smiles, for the adopt-a-criminal program’s aim was simple: Get the street-level ne’er-do-well to go straight or pressure him to seek the city limits and carry on to a new hometown.
In this case, my friend on the phone said he was packing his stuff, grabbing his girlfriend and leaving the city he called a “hellhole.”
As reporter Tim Petruk details in today’s cover story, a similar program in Kamloops has resulted in a dramatic reduction in reported crime.
In fact, Darryl Plecas, a renown criminologist at the University of the Fraser Valley, raves about what Kamloops cops have done.
And what the local Mounties have done is give notice to that irritating minority that causes the majority of problems for the rest of us who choose to go about our day-to-day lives actually working for a living.
Insp. Yves Lacasse, a cop’s cop who won’t bullshit a reporter — handing out compliments and criticism with equal vigour — is bang on when he notes the aggressively proactive approach taken by city cops is not harassment.
It is, he said, about protecting the community.
Lacasse is right.
Too often the public feels the judiciary system at the court level is too lenient on criminals.
At least Kamloops Mounties are active, not passive, in breathing down the necks of repeat offenders, staying so close the street-level crook will either change his ways or pack his bags.
That the prolific-offender program has worked so successfully in this era of civil rights advocacy makes it all the more impressive.
We want Mounties knocking on doors of career criminals at three in the morning.
We want Mounties paying special attention to that insanely expensive Escalade cruising through the neighbourhood during the witching hour.
We want Mounties rubbing our shoulders at the nightclubs as they do a gang sweep.
We want this so Kamloops doesn’t disintegrate into the cesspool of crime that has swallowed my former hometown of Abbotsford and many adjacent Lower Mainland communities.
The murders of two Kamloops men this past week are likely gang-related, despite what the official word says.
We need Mounties to keep pressing criminals — petty, street-level urchins and gangsters alike — like a vice.
Of course, this has to be done within the parameters the law.
Like anybody, police officers can screw up — they did when Tasering Robert Dziekanski at Vancouver International Airport and something is still not right about the official story surrounding the shooting death of Ian Bush in the Houston RCMP detachment.
But, if it’s your house getting burglarized for the umpteenth time, if it’s your daughter getting beaten down by the river, if it’s your son they’re digging from the earth, you’ll know why this full-court police press is crucial to maintaining some sense of sanity in a world that appears every day to get just a little bit crazier.
The origin of his angst was the Abbotsford Police Department and its adopt-a-criminal program of the mid- and late-1990s.
He was one of the repeat criminals cops in the Fraser Valley city had targeted — and he had had enough.
Between venomous vitriol directed at specific Abbotsford Police officers, and at yours truly for reporting on their decision to babysit the city’s criminal irritants, the man who could not go straight told me his life in the Bible Belt was untenable.
“I’m getting out of here and moving to Alberta,” he said between spastic verbal jerks of profanity.
When I relayed his consternation to a detective I knew, the cop was all smiles, for the adopt-a-criminal program’s aim was simple: Get the street-level ne’er-do-well to go straight or pressure him to seek the city limits and carry on to a new hometown.
In this case, my friend on the phone said he was packing his stuff, grabbing his girlfriend and leaving the city he called a “hellhole.”
As reporter Tim Petruk details in today’s cover story, a similar program in Kamloops has resulted in a dramatic reduction in reported crime.
In fact, Darryl Plecas, a renown criminologist at the University of the Fraser Valley, raves about what Kamloops cops have done.
And what the local Mounties have done is give notice to that irritating minority that causes the majority of problems for the rest of us who choose to go about our day-to-day lives actually working for a living.
Insp. Yves Lacasse, a cop’s cop who won’t bullshit a reporter — handing out compliments and criticism with equal vigour — is bang on when he notes the aggressively proactive approach taken by city cops is not harassment.
It is, he said, about protecting the community.
Lacasse is right.
Too often the public feels the judiciary system at the court level is too lenient on criminals.
At least Kamloops Mounties are active, not passive, in breathing down the necks of repeat offenders, staying so close the street-level crook will either change his ways or pack his bags.
That the prolific-offender program has worked so successfully in this era of civil rights advocacy makes it all the more impressive.
We want Mounties knocking on doors of career criminals at three in the morning.
We want Mounties paying special attention to that insanely expensive Escalade cruising through the neighbourhood during the witching hour.
We want Mounties rubbing our shoulders at the nightclubs as they do a gang sweep.
We want this so Kamloops doesn’t disintegrate into the cesspool of crime that has swallowed my former hometown of Abbotsford and many adjacent Lower Mainland communities.
The murders of two Kamloops men this past week are likely gang-related, despite what the official word says.
We need Mounties to keep pressing criminals — petty, street-level urchins and gangsters alike — like a vice.
Of course, this has to be done within the parameters the law.
Like anybody, police officers can screw up — they did when Tasering Robert Dziekanski at Vancouver International Airport and something is still not right about the official story surrounding the shooting death of Ian Bush in the Houston RCMP detachment.
But, if it’s your house getting burglarized for the umpteenth time, if it’s your daughter getting beaten down by the river, if it’s your son they’re digging from the earth, you’ll know why this full-court police press is crucial to maintaining some sense of sanity in a world that appears every day to get just a little bit crazier.
False Grit
Fewer and fewer voters are bothering to trek to the polls, as recent elections have shown.
Why? Many theories abound, but perhaps the most salient reason is that voters are sick and tired of the deplorable actions of such candidates as Mary McNeil, the B.C. Liberal flag-bearer in Vancouver-False Creek, who proved that gutter politics has no measurable depth.
It was McNeil and her campaign that led to the resignation of her NDP opponent, a young man named Ray Lam, for having the temerity to act as young men act.
In case you missed the latest example of despicable, dirty political gamesmanship, here’s a primer:
Lam is in his early 20s. He is gay and serves on many gay-rights boards.
On his private Facebook page, Lam had posted photos, two of which were taken four years ago, when he was in his late teens.
One photo shows Lam joking with a woman, on whose breast his hand rests. The woman is not offended.
She is taking part in the revelry and smiling. Another photo shows Lam, wearing a shirt and underwear, standing next to a man and behind a woman who is seated. The woman is grabbing a piece of Lam’s underwear and all are goofing off for the camera.
That’s it. Teenage hijinks and harmless private fun that can in no way be described as offensive or demeaning.
Somehow, these private Facebook photos fell into the hands of the Liberal camp, and McNeil jumped on them in a pathetic attempt to score cheap political points.
“Voters expect and deserve a high standard from their elected officials,” McNeil huffed in a release. “The photos clearly do not meet that standard. Mr. Lam should explain what kind of message he is trying to send. These photos are offensive and demeaning.
“This is someone who is running to represent the people of Vancouver-False Creek in Victoria, at a time when we have really critical issues, like crime and the economy. You need to show you have good judgment.”
She demanded an apology from Lam, who instead stepped down, to be replaced by another NDP candidate.
But it is McNeil who owes Lam and all voters an apology. It is McNeil who should be walking the political plank for engaging in such crass political opportunism.
The photos are “offensive and demeaning”? Lam needs to show “good judgment”?
Is she serious?
If four-year-old pics of a teenaged Lam having fun with friends are “offensive and demeaning,” how would McNeil describe photos of her party leader, Premier Gordon Campbell, grinning vacantly at the camera in a mugshot following his 2003 arrest for driving drunk in Hawaii?
Lam needs to show “good judgment”?
Which of the following demonstrates worse judgment — posting private photos on your private Facebook page showing you are like any other teenager or driving drunk?
Last I checked, only one of those two options could kill an innocent bystander.
Before I get castigated for revisiting Campbell’s six-year-old DUI guilty pleas, it is relevant since Campbell himself foolishly waded into this non-controversy by making asinine holier-than-thou comments about Lam’s pics.
“They were totally inappropriate pictures and the NDP has some questions to answer for,” said the Liberal leader, apparently unaware of the old pot-kettle-black analogy.
Bottom line is the photos, offensive or not, were on Lam’s private Facebook page, viewable to only those who were invited to view them.
Obviously, a Lam Facebook friend gained access and passed the pics to the Grits.
This is akin to a Liberal campaigner stealing a semi-risque photograph from Lam’s photo album at home and giving it to McNeil to use as cheap ammunition in the race for MLA.
Yes, this sorry, sordid affair exposes the character of a candidate, one whose judgment should be called into question.
And that candidate is not Ray Lam.
Why? Many theories abound, but perhaps the most salient reason is that voters are sick and tired of the deplorable actions of such candidates as Mary McNeil, the B.C. Liberal flag-bearer in Vancouver-False Creek, who proved that gutter politics has no measurable depth.
It was McNeil and her campaign that led to the resignation of her NDP opponent, a young man named Ray Lam, for having the temerity to act as young men act.
In case you missed the latest example of despicable, dirty political gamesmanship, here’s a primer:
Lam is in his early 20s. He is gay and serves on many gay-rights boards.
On his private Facebook page, Lam had posted photos, two of which were taken four years ago, when he was in his late teens.
One photo shows Lam joking with a woman, on whose breast his hand rests. The woman is not offended.
She is taking part in the revelry and smiling. Another photo shows Lam, wearing a shirt and underwear, standing next to a man and behind a woman who is seated. The woman is grabbing a piece of Lam’s underwear and all are goofing off for the camera.
That’s it. Teenage hijinks and harmless private fun that can in no way be described as offensive or demeaning.
Somehow, these private Facebook photos fell into the hands of the Liberal camp, and McNeil jumped on them in a pathetic attempt to score cheap political points.
“Voters expect and deserve a high standard from their elected officials,” McNeil huffed in a release. “The photos clearly do not meet that standard. Mr. Lam should explain what kind of message he is trying to send. These photos are offensive and demeaning.
“This is someone who is running to represent the people of Vancouver-False Creek in Victoria, at a time when we have really critical issues, like crime and the economy. You need to show you have good judgment.”
She demanded an apology from Lam, who instead stepped down, to be replaced by another NDP candidate.
But it is McNeil who owes Lam and all voters an apology. It is McNeil who should be walking the political plank for engaging in such crass political opportunism.
The photos are “offensive and demeaning”? Lam needs to show “good judgment”?
Is she serious?
If four-year-old pics of a teenaged Lam having fun with friends are “offensive and demeaning,” how would McNeil describe photos of her party leader, Premier Gordon Campbell, grinning vacantly at the camera in a mugshot following his 2003 arrest for driving drunk in Hawaii?
Lam needs to show “good judgment”?
Which of the following demonstrates worse judgment — posting private photos on your private Facebook page showing you are like any other teenager or driving drunk?
Last I checked, only one of those two options could kill an innocent bystander.
Before I get castigated for revisiting Campbell’s six-year-old DUI guilty pleas, it is relevant since Campbell himself foolishly waded into this non-controversy by making asinine holier-than-thou comments about Lam’s pics.
“They were totally inappropriate pictures and the NDP has some questions to answer for,” said the Liberal leader, apparently unaware of the old pot-kettle-black analogy.
Bottom line is the photos, offensive or not, were on Lam’s private Facebook page, viewable to only those who were invited to view them.
Obviously, a Lam Facebook friend gained access and passed the pics to the Grits.
This is akin to a Liberal campaigner stealing a semi-risque photograph from Lam’s photo album at home and giving it to McNeil to use as cheap ammunition in the race for MLA.
Yes, this sorry, sordid affair exposes the character of a candidate, one whose judgment should be called into question.
And that candidate is not Ray Lam.
She doesn't McLeod the issues
Cathy McLeod is not a superhero MP.
She is not the political messiah. She is not a martyr to the cause of better governance.
The Kamloops-Thompson-Cariboo Conservative MP is simply an honest woman, a regular Josephine who happens to have that rarest quality among politicians — when asked a question by a reporter, she offers up an answer devoid of political bafflegab and spoon-fed sentences from party elders.
When Kamloops This Week reporter Jeremy Deutsch asked McLeod what she thought of her party’s current ads that harshly criticize Liberal Leader Michael Ignatieff, she responded.
And, like many a Canadian with common sense and an aversion to predictable attack ads that add up to empty political calories, McLeod said she isn’t a fan of such creations.
I decided to play the story on the front page because it is a rare day indeed that a backbench member of Parliament suggests her own party’s advertising campaign against an opponent isn’t her cup of tea.
Had McLeod responded to Deutsch’s question the way we have become accustomed to in these parts — McLeod’s predecessor, Betty Hinton, would have waxed eloquent on the production quality of the marvellous television moments, regardless of their crassness — the story would have likely been placed inside the newspaper.
And I am obviously not alone in feeling McLeod’s comments — as sensible and honest and benign as they were — would be considered fairly significant news in the political world.
No sooner had the story broken in KTW and on our website than it was being repeated across the country — in the Toronto Star, in Maritimes newspapers, in various blogs.
Even the Liberal Party of Canada jumped in, quoting the KTW story in a press release it sent out on Wednesday.
(Of course, the federal Grits, staying true to the dominant Central Canada view of Canada, mixed up our riding with a large animal, alleging McLeod is MP for Kamloops-Thompson-Caribou).
But this attention to mild and honest comments uttered by a well-respected rookie MP speaks to the sad state of politics in Canada.
That honesty spoken with taste and thought is seen as revolutionary, as avant-garde, as outside the norm, is depressing.
There are those out there, such as Michael Crawford, the local candidate in last fall’s federal election, who, while lauding McLeod’s courage to speak out, nevertheless believe she will soon be the target of a miffed Prime Minister Stephen Harper.
Reporters who cover Parliament Hill have long told about Harper’s micromanaging tendencies, so it would not be a surprise to learn of a rap on McLeod’s wrist, courtesy of the Prime Minister’s Office.
Then again, Harper isn’t exactly consistent when dealing with MPs who shy away from being sickening sycophants.
Nova Scotia MP Bill Casey voted against his party’s budget — due to what he perceived as inequities in how it treated his home province in the matter of oil revenues — and was promptly booted from caucus.
Casey became an Independent folk hero.
Ontario MP Garth Turner was booted for blogging party details and for daring to criticize certain aspects of the Conservative party.
But Saskatchewan MP Tom Lukiwski was spared in 2008 after a 17-year-old video surfaced, showing him denigrating homosexuals.
Interestingly enough, Lukiwski secured the Conservative nomination (and subsequent MP’s seat) only because his predecessor, Larry Spencer, was tossed for opining homosexuality should be outlawed.
Perhaps stating one is not a fan of one’s party’s attack ads is more serious a crime as blogging about what happened in a committee meeting.
Perhaps it is less of an offence than casting criticism on the gay lifestyle.
In the new Conservative Party of Canada, it’s hard to read the rules when they seem to be forever shifting.
She is not the political messiah. She is not a martyr to the cause of better governance.
The Kamloops-Thompson-Cariboo Conservative MP is simply an honest woman, a regular Josephine who happens to have that rarest quality among politicians — when asked a question by a reporter, she offers up an answer devoid of political bafflegab and spoon-fed sentences from party elders.
When Kamloops This Week reporter Jeremy Deutsch asked McLeod what she thought of her party’s current ads that harshly criticize Liberal Leader Michael Ignatieff, she responded.
And, like many a Canadian with common sense and an aversion to predictable attack ads that add up to empty political calories, McLeod said she isn’t a fan of such creations.
I decided to play the story on the front page because it is a rare day indeed that a backbench member of Parliament suggests her own party’s advertising campaign against an opponent isn’t her cup of tea.
Had McLeod responded to Deutsch’s question the way we have become accustomed to in these parts — McLeod’s predecessor, Betty Hinton, would have waxed eloquent on the production quality of the marvellous television moments, regardless of their crassness — the story would have likely been placed inside the newspaper.
And I am obviously not alone in feeling McLeod’s comments — as sensible and honest and benign as they were — would be considered fairly significant news in the political world.
No sooner had the story broken in KTW and on our website than it was being repeated across the country — in the Toronto Star, in Maritimes newspapers, in various blogs.
Even the Liberal Party of Canada jumped in, quoting the KTW story in a press release it sent out on Wednesday.
(Of course, the federal Grits, staying true to the dominant Central Canada view of Canada, mixed up our riding with a large animal, alleging McLeod is MP for Kamloops-Thompson-Caribou).
But this attention to mild and honest comments uttered by a well-respected rookie MP speaks to the sad state of politics in Canada.
That honesty spoken with taste and thought is seen as revolutionary, as avant-garde, as outside the norm, is depressing.
There are those out there, such as Michael Crawford, the local candidate in last fall’s federal election, who, while lauding McLeod’s courage to speak out, nevertheless believe she will soon be the target of a miffed Prime Minister Stephen Harper.
Reporters who cover Parliament Hill have long told about Harper’s micromanaging tendencies, so it would not be a surprise to learn of a rap on McLeod’s wrist, courtesy of the Prime Minister’s Office.
Then again, Harper isn’t exactly consistent when dealing with MPs who shy away from being sickening sycophants.
Nova Scotia MP Bill Casey voted against his party’s budget — due to what he perceived as inequities in how it treated his home province in the matter of oil revenues — and was promptly booted from caucus.
Casey became an Independent folk hero.
Ontario MP Garth Turner was booted for blogging party details and for daring to criticize certain aspects of the Conservative party.
But Saskatchewan MP Tom Lukiwski was spared in 2008 after a 17-year-old video surfaced, showing him denigrating homosexuals.
Interestingly enough, Lukiwski secured the Conservative nomination (and subsequent MP’s seat) only because his predecessor, Larry Spencer, was tossed for opining homosexuality should be outlawed.
Perhaps stating one is not a fan of one’s party’s attack ads is more serious a crime as blogging about what happened in a committee meeting.
Perhaps it is less of an offence than casting criticism on the gay lifestyle.
In the new Conservative Party of Canada, it’s hard to read the rules when they seem to be forever shifting.
Sudden-death comes to NHL — and to our ballot boxes
The provincial election campaign officially began Tuesday, though it has, in reality, been underway for some time. The proof is in the flurry of re-announcements of previous funding announcements.
The National Hockey League playoffs officially begin on Wednesday, though they have, in reality, been underway for the past few weeks for players wearing sweaters in Anaheim, St. Louis, Nashville, Montreal, Manhattan, Miami and Buffalo.
Interestingly enough, there are many similarities between the quest for Lord Stanley’s Cup and the push for political power:
Home-ice advantage: In the NHL, players in the Eastern and Western conferences sacrifice every ounce of sweat, every drop of blood and every gasp of breath as they fight to finish in the top four positions to ensure an extra game at home.
In the election, home-ice advantage means the NDP could run a rutabaga in Vancouver-Mount Pleasant or Nelson and win, while the Liberals could stick a campaign button on a potato in Abbotsford and West Vancouver and automatically gain a pair of seats.
Rule changes:
These 2009 playoffs are not your father’s post-season.
There is no red line, there are two referees (which is one too many) and the Cup journey will stretch into June.
And talk of further changes continue: Bigger nets?
New fighting regulations?
In the election, there are strange WHA-type forces promoting a change in how we elect our MLAs, via something called STV.
It is about as confusing as calculating the NHL’s salary-cap rules and proponents point to the fact such notable countries as Ireland and Malta use STV — which is sort of like holding up the New York Islanders and Phoenix Coyotes as shining examples in a persuasive argument to improve the NHL.
Third man in:
In the NHL, when two players square off for a consensual fight, a third man interfering in the disagreement is automatically ejected.
In the election, we call that third man the B.C. Teachers’ Federation, which, while gang-tackling the Liberals as they tangle with the New Democrats, continues to profess it is apolitical — even as millions of dollars in donations to the NDP spill from BCTF pockets in its skirmish with the Grits.
Interference:
In the NHL, a player is penalized for interfering with another player who does not have the puck. In the election, the Liberal party was partially penalized for depriving British Columbians of the right to voice their opinion via advertising.
In other words, voters hadn’t even left for the arena before being crosschecked on their doorstep by an anti-democratic Liberal goon.
We say partially penalized because the court ruling striking down the Draconian law came long after it was already in effect during the pre-campaign period.
In essence, the Liberals served about 30 seconds of the two-minute penalty.
n Beware the bulletin board: In the NHL playoffs, players are very careful not to say anything inflammatory about the opposing team, lest the provocative quotes land on the enemy’s dressing-room bulletin board, thereby providing said opponent an emotional edge.
In the election, identical discretion is employed. Unless the politician’s name is Kevin Krueger.
Or Harry Lali.
Ah, spring is here and we will live and die, cheer and cry as our team disappoints and thrills, teases and kills in its epic struggle against adversity to hoist a trophy that has become as fabled as the finest fairy tale,
Oh, and there will also be 85 politicians sent to Victoria, a group that, soon enough, will have voters wishing for the political equivalent of the NHL lockout of 2004-2005.
The National Hockey League playoffs officially begin on Wednesday, though they have, in reality, been underway for the past few weeks for players wearing sweaters in Anaheim, St. Louis, Nashville, Montreal, Manhattan, Miami and Buffalo.
Interestingly enough, there are many similarities between the quest for Lord Stanley’s Cup and the push for political power:
Home-ice advantage: In the NHL, players in the Eastern and Western conferences sacrifice every ounce of sweat, every drop of blood and every gasp of breath as they fight to finish in the top four positions to ensure an extra game at home.
In the election, home-ice advantage means the NDP could run a rutabaga in Vancouver-Mount Pleasant or Nelson and win, while the Liberals could stick a campaign button on a potato in Abbotsford and West Vancouver and automatically gain a pair of seats.
Rule changes:
These 2009 playoffs are not your father’s post-season.
There is no red line, there are two referees (which is one too many) and the Cup journey will stretch into June.
And talk of further changes continue: Bigger nets?
New fighting regulations?
In the election, there are strange WHA-type forces promoting a change in how we elect our MLAs, via something called STV.
It is about as confusing as calculating the NHL’s salary-cap rules and proponents point to the fact such notable countries as Ireland and Malta use STV — which is sort of like holding up the New York Islanders and Phoenix Coyotes as shining examples in a persuasive argument to improve the NHL.
Third man in:
In the NHL, when two players square off for a consensual fight, a third man interfering in the disagreement is automatically ejected.
In the election, we call that third man the B.C. Teachers’ Federation, which, while gang-tackling the Liberals as they tangle with the New Democrats, continues to profess it is apolitical — even as millions of dollars in donations to the NDP spill from BCTF pockets in its skirmish with the Grits.
Interference:
In the NHL, a player is penalized for interfering with another player who does not have the puck. In the election, the Liberal party was partially penalized for depriving British Columbians of the right to voice their opinion via advertising.
In other words, voters hadn’t even left for the arena before being crosschecked on their doorstep by an anti-democratic Liberal goon.
We say partially penalized because the court ruling striking down the Draconian law came long after it was already in effect during the pre-campaign period.
In essence, the Liberals served about 30 seconds of the two-minute penalty.
n Beware the bulletin board: In the NHL playoffs, players are very careful not to say anything inflammatory about the opposing team, lest the provocative quotes land on the enemy’s dressing-room bulletin board, thereby providing said opponent an emotional edge.
In the election, identical discretion is employed. Unless the politician’s name is Kevin Krueger.
Or Harry Lali.
Ah, spring is here and we will live and die, cheer and cry as our team disappoints and thrills, teases and kills in its epic struggle against adversity to hoist a trophy that has become as fabled as the finest fairy tale,
Oh, and there will also be 85 politicians sent to Victoria, a group that, soon enough, will have voters wishing for the political equivalent of the NHL lockout of 2004-2005.
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