Poetic review of Current Listening event at Bar Robo

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The following is a poem written by    in review of Current Listening event co sponsored by Music.Art.Ppl on April 12th at Bar Robo:

Listening Sessions: Tous Suave

Cannon is in the building. That’s 2x now I see him, all soulful and willing to parlez jams and cameras. It’s a colours show, get the car door, start to roll, forget the imposters, there’s a video shoot popping off on an evening in Chinatown. The egg rolls and pho soups down the road are curious, but it’s just a bunch of creative minds next to the gas station at Bar Robo embracing the order of the random, creating something out of nothing.

High hats contributed to the dozen of conversations with percussionists and fishnets lingering in the background. Freshly squeezed beats from HYF, unsigned hype, some of them fire, others melodic, but its all scripted on stage to a screen near you. Someone said he was q-tip with his own voice, another said something to the suave writing a review for the b-roll. Next time keep the trench coat on.

This night’s a blend of haze and private thoughts, some traditional experimentation of electronica and a voice against colonial fiction. A crossing of cultures, which we do well in Ottawa, since we see the world in peu importe. Spoko, like they say in Warsaw. The Gilmour boy was in the building to show what he’s curated in his living room, his girl all too familiar with the sounds. But Muzzy: oh, Muzzy, you took to Jimmi and pulled the muzzle off J. Dilla beats to chew into a voice of anger – it’s good you lost your job that day.

A few anthems traversed by truck or track from King Kimbit’s diary gave us the hope that perhaps bars are back. It’s been a while since writer’s block and J.R. getting the picture right. It’s no Harlem, but we can try. Throughout the night, the native bopping heads and familiar faces mingled with delight and embraced the talent. Scarves drank beer and held hands with other women while Freddy crept in on crutches, grateful and familiar. They called it a listening session and it was just that. Cheap beer and local tastemakers handpicking the hottest talent of the day – remember, many of them hid during the winter, producing sounds now ready to blossom. Just before Lovecraft played, someone went for two in the powder blue room and fingers pointed everywhere with little luck cause no one had a shitty night.

Encore, Dr. David.

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