The Vertigo Music Festival was an electric showcase of local musical talent, highlighting the importance of community in these dire days of political division. 

Sunlight streamed through the windows of Isaac’s Bar & Grill as I walked into “Niagara’s dizziest music festival” on Saturday, March 15. The mid-day light seemed strange considering I’d come for the main stage punk rock show, but with 13 bands promised to populate the festival, it made sense. 

Vendor tables lined the perimeter of the familiar setting, with the same stage I’ve sung karaoke on kitted out with a drum set, guitars and other technical gear. Isaac’s was in no way transformed, but that’s just a staple of how versatile it is as a venue (something I hope continues to be true after the incoming renovations). 

As expected, the pub was fairly sparse at the beginning of the day, but a decent crowd gathered for the opening act, Maggot Pizza, whose contagiously silly energy inspired patrons to dance and flail to the aliens’ “wacky grooves.” The arrival of the green and fishy alien Zorb on the drums was the set’s most memorable moment. 

Former Brock student Lydia Stephen launched into her lyrical, acoustic set in the Skybar the moment Maggot Pizza finished, setting up the rapid pace of the Vertigo Festival, in which a band was always playing, whether on the main stage or the side stage. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a ticket to the side stage, but Stephen’s music floated throughout the entire venue, letting me vibe along. 

This transition introduced a problem, though: the rapid pace meant the next main stage band, JULES IS DEAD, had to test their instruments during Stephen’s set. These tests were loud, and while I’m not sure if Stephen or any other side- stage performer could hear them, her ability to keep playing unaffected was certainly commendable. 

JULES IS DEAD followed Stephen with a main stage performance chock-full of catchy instrumentals, pop-influenced riffs and shredding vocals. Jules was an incredibly honest lead performer, even admitting to the crowd that they hadn’t played live in some time and was nervous. But JULES IS DEAD lit up the venue, getting the crowd to participate and mosh to released and unreleased songs like “Jason Hate Club,” “Eternally (undeath)” and “Blood Back.” 

At only 18 years old with only singles released for streaming, JULES IS DEAD is certainly a band to watch, having the potential to go a long way in coming years. 

Soft Animals was next on the side stage, combining gentle rock and almost psychedelic sounds to grace the ears of all in attendance. 

By 5 p.m., when the beach-bum-esque Sun Junkies took the stage, I expected a bigger crowd to have formed. This was not the case; however, the four-piece band infused the room with their intoxicating, contagious energy, stringing the crowd along by alternating between punk rock, fun-infused tunes and slow, melancholic ballads. The Sun Junkies’ set felt like a breath of fresh air, and when they ended, I was left eager for more. 

Velvet Beach was one of the side-stage bands I really wish I could have seen up close. Like Soft Animals, their sound incorporated some psychedelic riffs and ambience, but Velvet Beach kept a steady, upbeat tempo that made me want to move even from the main floor of Isaac’s.  

Unfortunately, I needed to eat dinner partway through the festival, and as such missed the second half of Sunshine Express’ (S.EX) set. They were certainly the most visually striking band of the night, bringing their own colourful lights to make S.EX as much an optical experience as an aural one. The music wasn’t my personal favourite, but with samples from “The Imperial March,” auto-tuned vocals and other ambient sounds, Sunshine Express was certainly one of the most unique bands of the night. 

I similarly missed the first half of local pop-rock-alternative-jazz artist Sophi’s set, but the country-pop blend of her voice and sound made me think of Shania Twain or Carrie Underwood, and the songs had everyone’s heads bouncing. 

Next up was DEAR-GOD, an industrial and hardcore punk rapper whose music I was more acquainted with before the show. Unfortunately, lead performer Robert Ortiz didn’t seem particularly enthusiastic about the smaller, seemingly uncertain crowd, repeatedly telling us to get moving and start dancing. I have never been a fan of this method of trying to rile up a crowd, and frankly, it was a little awkward. Still, Ortiz soldiered through, jumping around the stage with unabashed confidence to make a commendable performance that (mostly) won over the crowd when all was said and done. 

Lauren Dillen was the first performance of the night to go longer than 30 minutes, shifting the tone from hardcore punk to mellow folk music. It somewhat dropped the mood in Isaac’s, where more people had trickled in for The Dirty Nil, but it certainly made for a dizzying experience, as promised. 

Much to my surprise, the crowd was still relatively scant by the time the penultimate main stage performer Cam Kahin fired up his set, blending raucous punk riffs and sombre lyrical tunes much like the Sun Junkies had done. In fact, making the similarity even more striking was when one of Kahin’s guitar strings snapped mid-song, and the Sun Junkies’ lead performer had to run upstairs to grab his guitar. The debacle paused the set for a moment, but Kahin came back with the same force as before, thrashing around the stage and even jumping into the mosh pit during one of his more aggressive songs. 

Minuscule was the final side-stage performer of the night, and for good reason. Bringing a whole host of genres to the table, with alternative, country, jazz and rock influences framing their set, the prog-folk/femme-pop collective kept the energy in the venue high while introducing us to a new type of music. 

As Minuscule played and the clock ticked down to the arrival of The Dirty Nil, I expectantly looked to the entrance for the flood of people coming for the headliners. But there was none. Despite having a capacity of 600 people, I would say by the end of the night, only 200 people (at most) were present. 

And that’s a mighty shame because The Dirty Nil came ready to rock. 

Or maybe that’s not quite the right way to describe it. When the three-piece band took the stage and played their first few songs, it was obvious these guys were who the crowd had been waiting for. People thrashed and sang their lungs out, and the smaller gathering made for an intensely intimate experience. 

But lead performer Luke Bentham and bassist Sam Tomlinson were frank with us: they’d just come off a three-month, 37-show, cross-country tour in the United States, and they were tired. Bentham was visibly ill, coughing like a dying man between songs as his bandmates laughed, and admitting that he had an ungodly amount of cold medicine flowing through his veins. 

In other circumstances, this might have taken away from the performance, but The Dirty Nil, originally from Dundas, Ontario, kept telling us how good it was to be back in Canada, back home, especially given the political climate in the States. The tone of the performance was community and care as they told us to look out for one another and help each other in times of need. Perhaps this is just my nationalism speaking, but despite the smaller crowd and Bentham’s illness, The Dirty Nil seemed re-animated by their Canadian fans at the Vertigo Music Festival, and as such, their performance was electric and unforgettable. 

The band’s recent announcement that Tomlinson is stepping back from the band to pursue other projects, meaning the Vertigo Festival was his last show, makes the moment even more poignant in retrospect. 

Playing songs mostly from their last three albums, The Dirty Nil expertly guided the audience between high-energy thrashing and slow swaying as we sang the lyrics back to them. The band played a few new songs as well, including “I Hate the Internet” and the unreleased “Spider Dream.” 

The Dirty Nil are the crowning jewels of Canada’s contemporary punk rock scene, and it was a thrill and an honour to see them in such an intimate setting. 

Indeed, intimacy seemed to be a theme throughout the night. It was truly something special to see JULES IS DEAD standing in front of the stage for Cam Kahin’s set, their body swaying to the hardest of beats. The Sun Junkies moshed in the pit with the rest of us during The Dirty Nil’s set, and Maggot Pizza stuck around for the whole day, making regular appearances around the venue. 

I even shook hands with The Dirty Nil drummer Kyle Fisher after the show was over. 

The Vertigo Music Festival may not have been the most crowded event, and maybe the festival aspects like the vendors would have been better utilized by an outdoor concert, but it was a glowing reminder of humanity and community. Even rock stars are just people; people who can love a country and mosh with the rest of us. 

So, you’re a novice Canadian writer looking to see your name in print.  

Good news! Writers looking to be published can submit their work to a variety of online and print publications across Canada. Simply searching “Canadian publishing opportunities” on Google will retrieve several thousand pages of possibilities, but unfortunately, this is often hardly helpful.  

While the list of journals, magazines, newspapers and writing contests out there is extensive, understanding the specific guidelines surrounding what you can submit, when you can submit and what you’ll get out of submission can be overwhelming. Furthermore, unless you’re writing something completely new that’s tailored to the specifications of a particular organization, it can be nearly impossible to find a publication whose requirements perfectly match the nature of a piece you’ve already written.  

While this can be frustrating, it isn’t a reason to give up. Here is a list of four of my favourite Canadian publication opportunities for you to consider.  

The Malahat Review: 

The Malahat Review, published by the University of Victoria, is one of Canada’s most prestigious literary journals, accepting poetry, short fiction and creative nonfiction. Throughout its nearly 60 years of existence, The Malahat Review has been named the Western Magazine Award Foundation’s Magazine of the Year three times and many of the authors whose work was first published in one of their issues have gone on to win various writing-related awards and prizes. 

Published quarterly, The Malahat Review is currently accepting submissions from Canadian writers via their Submittable page until June. It is important to note that writers are asked to submit their work only once per genre in each calendar year and that any work that has previously been published will not be accepted.  

For general poetry submissions, The Malahat Review asks that writers send in three to five poems formatted in a single document.  

For general fiction submissions, The Malahat Review will accept one piece of short fiction or up to three pieces of flash fiction. Short fiction cannot exceed 8,000 words in length and each piece of flash fiction can’t be longer than 750 words.  

For creative nonfiction, writers can submit up to three pieces at once. If you submit one longer piece, the word count must be under 5,000. If you submit two or three shorter pieces, The Malahat Review requires each work to be under 1,000 words. 

As of writing, The Malahat Review has put out a call for submissions for a special issue titled Inhale/Exhale: Contemporary Indigenous Storytelling. Special guest editor Richard Van Camp, a proud member of the Dogrib (Tłı̨chǫ) Nation, will be a part of the creation of this issue which will celebrate the work of Indigenous storytellers. All First Nations, Métis and Inuit storytellers are welcome to submit work in the genres of short fiction and creative nonfiction (up to two stories with a maximum word count of 3,000 words) or poetry (three to five poems with a maximum of 100 lines per poem). Submissions end on June 1. 

The Malahat Review is also looking for submissions for its Far Horizons Award for short fiction. Each piece of work must be no longer than 3,500 words but entries to this contest are unlimited and will not impact your ability to submit your work to the regular publication. Please note that you will be considered ineligible for this award if you have already published a book (defined as a work more than 48 pages in length). The deadline for submitting work to this award is May 1 at 11:59 p.m.  

More information regarding the formatting for any of these submission opportunities can be located on The Malahat Review’s submissions page.  

The Fiddlehead: 

The Fiddlehead is a well-respected Canadian journal that accepts submissions of poetry, short stories and creative nonfiction from both emerging and established writers. Published four times a year at the University of New Brunswick, The Fiddlehead is 80 years old and has acquired the reputation of being a Who’s Who in Canadian literature. Many well-known writers first found a home for their work in the pages of this journal.  

The Fiddlehead accepts work between Jan. 1 to March 31 and Sept. 15 to Nov. 30 through Submittable. While The Fiddlehead totes only a 1 to 2 per cent acceptance rate, submissions are free and therefore there is no reason not to give it a shot. 

The Fiddlehead accepts up to six poems per submission for poetry. All poems must be submitted in one document which may not exceed 12 pages in total.  

For fiction and creative nonfiction, The Fiddlehead will accept one piece per submission. The piece should be double-spaced and no more than 6,000 words.  

As of writing, The Fiddlehead is also currently open for submissions for its creative nonfiction contest. The contest will accept unpublished entries of up to 6,000 words until June 2 via their Submittable page.  

More information regarding the formatting of any of these submission opportunities can be located on The Fiddlehead’s submissions page.  

Room: 

Room is the oldest feminist literary magazine in Canada, publishing poetry, fiction and creative nonfiction penned by women and other gender-diverse writers. Published quarterly since 1975, many pieces that first found themselves published in the pages of Room have made their way into other award-winning publications such as The Journal Prize Anthology, Best Canadian Poetry, Best Canadian Stories and Best Canadian Essays. Many have even won National Magazine Awards. To keep things fresh, each issue of the magazine is edited by a different team of editors chosen from the Growing Room Collective, allowing for a variety of unique editorial visions to shape Room’s body of work.  

Room accepts work starting on Feb. 28 and their submissions remain open on a rolling basis until they reach their ascribed submissions limit. Submissions then open again in May, August and November according to the same principles. Pieces of poetry, short fiction and creative nonfiction can be submitted via Room’s Submittable page.  

Room will accept up to five poems at a time. No clear word or line limit is outlined.  

For short fiction and creative nonfiction, Room will accept submissions up to 3,500 words in length. 

Room is not currently running any contests as of writing, but starting April 1, submissions for their creative non-fiction contest will open. Their poetry and short forms contests will open on June 15 and Sept. 1 respectively and will run for exactly two months.  

More information regarding the formatting of any of these submission opportunities can be located on Room’s submissions page.  

Paloma: 

Paloma is an up-and-coming literary magazine that publishes a monthly issue featuring a variety of creative genres including poetry, reviews, essays, short fiction, creative nonfiction and more. While Paloma is a smaller publication that has just found its footing in the world of Canadian publishing, that doesn’t mean it has any less merit. 

To leave room for creative exploration, Paloma’s submission guidelines are rather vague. The only clear specifications given are that non-fiction cannot exceed a word limit of 1,000 and creative fiction cannot exceed a word limit of 3,500.  

Work can be submitted to Paloma via their email, palomathemagazine@gmail.com.  

More information regarding the formatting of any of these submission opportunities can be located on Paloma’s Substack account. 

— 

While the feeling of being published can be incredibly thrilling, it is not always easily accomplished. Similar to actors, writers often face the answer “no” far more often than they do the answer “yes.” Although it’s easy to get bogged down by the disappointment of rejection, the best writers continue to hone their craft and put themselves out there, even in the face of adversity.  

While this list cannot guarantee you will find the “yes” you’ve been looking for, it can provide you with a jumping-off point as you persevere on your journey towards becoming a published author. 

With the end of the at-one-time weekly comedy podcast Cum Town recently being made official by its hosts, a reflection on its cultural significance and, as a fan, an ode to its unique comedic character seems past due.  

The comedy podcast scene in 2025 is in a rough spot despite the space being more lucrative than ever before.  

The Joe Rogan Experience’s glaze-fest of an interview with Donald Trump just before the 2024 U.S. presidential election was something of a microcosm of everything that’s gone wrong with the current pantheon of comedy podcasts. Namely, many of the highly popular podcasts trading in or near the mainstays of the Rogan Experience brand — masculine topics and interests, a comedic angle, loose conversation with no little editing or script-work — are simply turning into right-wing hubs for lukewarm comedians to pretend like they have an important voice and platform for exploring societal issues.  

Chief perpetrators include Andrew Schulz and company’s Flagrant, Theo Von’s This Past Weekend and Tony Hinchcliffe’s live comedy podcast Kill Tony. All these comedians are united by a common enemy in something vague they call “wokeism,” which ranges from annoyingly over-sensitive university-campus politics by people with no actual power, to the elites of the Democratic Party.  

The overall decline in comedic quality alongside explicit right-wing affiliations from the top names of the comedy-podcast sphere is, in one respect, a product of how popular the industry of podcasting has become. Finding an audience for a podcast if you already had a career in comedy is much easier now than even a few years ago. With podcasts being the most popular they’ve ever been, not only are popular podcasters losing touch with the average problems of people, but as a group of mainly rich dudes, they’re also starting to realize which party has their cultural and financial interests in mind (*ahem* Republicans).  

All of this makes what I would argue is the funniest comedy podcast to have ever existed — which was itself one of the most popular podcasts in the world from roughly 2016 to 2022 — a fascinating cultural phenomenon to reflect on in an age of right-wing bro-style comedy podcast hackery.   

And yes, the name of this podcast is Cum Town. 

The impetus of this half reflection, half ode, is that the New York City-based comedian trifecta behind the absurd and raunchy podcast, Adam Friedland, Stavros Halkias and Nick Mullen, recently posted a series-concluding farewell episode of sorts in early March of this year. The episode was released on their Patreon page after the show took a two-year hiatus following Halkias stating publicly in 2022 that he had left the show.   

The period of inactivity from the podcast coincided with Friedland and Mullen starting up another creative project in the anachronistically fashioned interview talk-show The Adam Friedland Show and Halkias going on to produce a comedy special, create his own podcast in Stavvy’s World and acted in a Netflix series.  

Cum Town never dabbled in politics seriously at all, a fact that brought much amusement to the hosts when a piece in Vox attempted to say the podcast was an example of the socialist left’s misogyny problem. However, the Cum Town crew all supported Bernie Sanders’ presidential campaigns, and you can find audio of them all throwing out political affiliations that range from social-democratic to socialist. 

The podcast was proof that comedy can be expressly offensive and raunchy, but that the sole point of testing the waters with offensive content was to make people laugh. Their being intentionally offensive had no intended political valence, unlike those in the Rogan-sphere, and this was one of the ways they made you laugh while not feeling guilty about laughing at things you absolutely could not bring up at work.  

But beyond not being offensive out of some vague self-righteous feeling that by doing so one is attacking the ivory-tower politeness politics of a cretinous elite establishment, another unique part of Cum Town’s ability to make palatable some of their most offensive content was that said offensive content often had some absurdist premise built into it that subverted the distastefulness of joking about dark and taboo subjects.  

I can’t think of a more concrete example of this than in their “Love Island But They Have Guns” bit, where the joke is that if a single gun was thrown into the rotation of the hit reality dating show Love Island, the male talent would be able to get whatever sexual favours they wanted out of the women on the show when it was their turn to have the gun.  

Making what is, in essence, a rape joke, especially after the #MeToo movement, is not only incredibly taboo and risky, but often impossible not to make come off in poor taste. But as mentioned, the saving-grace of an absurd angle on this disturbing premise comes in the way the trio’s imagined lines of dialogue for the hypothetical show portrays the men with guns as inconsistently aware of how their possession of a firearm is the sole cause of any sexual act that happens on their date. At one point, Mullen in a himbo tone pretending to be a male contestant says: “I ended up getting head from Samantha last night. I don’t know if it was because of the gun, but I’m glad I had it.”   

While not as outright taboo as that bit, another pertinent example on this point is the beloved “Liberal Elmo” bit — a hilarious five-minute riff on the self-righteous, super egoic and hypocritical tendencies of the type of liberal that major partisans of the Rogan-sphere would describe as “woke.” 

The bit’s premise is that an interpolation of Elmo where the puppet, who is “socially conscious” but only for aesthetic reasons, discovers his Black neighbour Gordon has been evicted because taxes on the brownstone apartment he lives in got too high. The social justice warrior Elmo then proceeds to both express an over-the-top concern in making sure Gordon knows he’s hyper-aware of the issues surrounding African Americans while also opportunistically thinking of ways to use the new space made available by his eviction, thinking out loud about creating a podcast room all the while policing or ignoring Gordon’s opinions when they differ from his:  

Elmo [Mullen and Friedman]: Gordon, I totally get it. I went to all the [Black Lives Matter] protests last summer, you know? I am on your side. We really made a difference for those three days.  

Gordon [Mullen]: It’s really not that simple Elm— 

Elmo [Halkias and Mullen]: You know what, I’m kind of tired of talking about this. Can’t we just all move on? 

As the bit goes on, it sketches out more hilarious angles on the contradictory complexes unique to this type of liberal, with the most consistent throughline being how unconscious racism and fear of the other is projected through paternalistic over-attentiveness to educating minority groups and being perceived as knowing lots about their specific societal plights. 

A standout moment in this vein is when all three comedians as Elmo unload a set of mini punchlines in Elmo laying down ground rules for the now homeless Gordon:  

Elmo [Friedland]: Just because I want to defund the police, doesn’t mean I won’t call them on you.  

Elmo [Halkias]: If I hear Bachata music playing too loud, too late into the night, I can still call the police.  

Elmo [Mullen]: I called, but I requested a social worker. I told them I thought you were mentally ill… for letting your dog bark… after 7 p.m.”  

Note how the bit makes Gordon a completely sympathetic character as his struggles relate specifically to being a Black American. Mainly, he is evicted from a brownstone that his family has lived in for “generations” due to White gentrification, of which Elmo is clearly implied to be demographically a part of. Moreover, by the bit’s end, Gordon is unjustly arrested by the police who are called on him by Elmo when Elmo causes a scene after finding out Gordon’s granddaughter doesn’t have a permit for her lemonade stand. Amid Elmo making a stink about his granddaughter’s lemonade stand, Gordon asks, “Why are you doing this?” to which Elmo responds:  

Elmo [Mullen]: Honestly, your tone and the way you’re asking me, “Why are you doing this?” is frightening me, and now you’re leaving me very little option other than to call the police…  

Ideologically speaking, because I’m a good f*cking person, I don’t want to do it. But push comes to shove — I already did.  

I requested that they only bring tasers and a social worker, and if they don’t, it’s already out of my hands…  

Elmo [Friedland]: I’ll film it, in case you need it as evidence. 

While hilarious, the bit has an implied critique of identity politics without erasing genuine problems that African Americans face in the States. Add on that absurd angle with the annoying SJW-type of liberal being the beloved star of Sesame Street, and you’ve got a comedic bit that, if anything, is a critique of lefty traits from an implicitly further left position instead of a right one.  

But like I said, the podcast wasn’t political, and political undertones weren’t even a highly prevalent aspect of the show. The actual parts of it that made it great were more specific to unique aspects of the inter-dynamics between its hosts. 

Despite the secret formula of the podcast being ultimately the jigsaw social dynamics between the three comedians where Friedland is the quivering heel, Halkias the loveable everyman and charming conversationalist, and Mullen the enigmatic and borderline-sociopathic mind that seemingly rubber-stamps anything that comes to it with the absurdist gallows humour of previous mention — Mullen really was the star of the show.  

Friedland recently described Mullen as an “evil genius” in an interview during a reflective moment on the podcast. I can’t think of a more fitting descriptor for the Baltimore native who dropped out of high school to start doing comedy in his teens.  

As the creative producer of the podcast and the obvious steering genius of it, Mullen’s stream-of-consciousness bits and riffs had the charming quality of not being contrived at all. It’s apparent that Mullen’s mind amazingly and somewhat terrifyingly just works like that.  

A highlight in this respect is when in the middle of some standard conversation on an episode, Mullen spur-of-the-moment starts an 11-minute riff on what kind of dad he would have been if instead of choosing the precarious lifestyle of being a stand-up comedian, he had settled down to have a family instead.  

Here’s how he sets the scene of this alternate reality with Halkias acting as his dialogic wingman: 

Mullen: Me in the garage for like nine days, I just walk in [the house] completely nude with an owl perched on top of my head and I go in the fridge and I eat some bologna; I’m like, “Oh yeah hey…” 

“What’s up… what’s up family!’ 

Halkias: Your seven-year-old daughter [is like], “Hey Nick, could you drive me to school today?” 

Mullen: They’re all taller than me; all of my children are like 6’3, 6’4, I’m just, my penis is hanging out, there’s just a f*cking giant barn owl like digging its claws into my head, there’s blood pouring down. 

I’m like, “You guys having a good time at school?”  

They’re like, “It’s July.”  

I’m like, “Cool cool cool, nice nice… All right, I’m going to be out in the garage, see you guys at Christmas, I guess.” 

And that’s just the beginning. By the bit’s middle act, the nudist, garage-dwelling, owl-scarred, deadbeat-dad Mullen is found dead, a week-and-a-half after the fact, in his garage by his family, including his wife’s boyfriend who we learn supports them all financially. They discover his body in full unitard with one of his legs jammed in the springs of a trampoline because of a failed attempt to teach himself Olympic gymnastics. 

Another key ingredient to Mullen’s magnetism as a host came from being a gifted raconteur whose personal anecdotes were often like the fictitious bits he comes up with in their macabre-morose-tinged absurdity.  

Standouts in this department include: his haunting description of the nightmarishly packed Chinatown apartment he lived in alongside three generations of a Chinese family where the parents slept in the kitchen pantry and a random guy lived in the antechamber, and which nearly burned down while he was in it; when after a Mexican landlord had shown Mullen a room he was interested in, the landlord revealed to Mullen that his girlfriend had just broken up with him by beckoning to a painting of the moon he had painted for her which was sticking out of a trash container just outside and which sent the now torrentially tearing landlord embracing towards a confused Mullen’s shoulder; when after Mullen’s shifts working at a call centre he would go home, get drunk on his porch, and then proceed to prank call that same centre using his inside knowledge to his advantage in stringing along his co-worker victims.  

While Mullen’s almost Lynchian knack for finding twisted angles in the profoundly banal may come at the cost of some interpersonal and personal collateral damage (for proof of the former, see the time he actually upset Halkias on an episode to the point of making him leave a recording or when he had a random near-manic outburst at Friedland; and for proof of the latter, the fact that he seemingly can’t tell the difference between the best and worst days of his life) — he was the comedic glue that held the podcast together. 

But glue has to hold something together to be useful, and, again, the inter-dynamics of the three comedians was that essential composite that formed the magic of Cum Town.  

As exemplified in the deadbeat-dad bit, Halkias, for his part, was exceptionally gifted at quickly sensing whatever comedic angle Mullen was homing in on at the drop of a hat and throwing kindling to the fire with setups and tags that often would elevate Mullen’s initial premise to pure comedy gold. Observe, for another example, the way Halkias instantaneously becomes the curious-kid foil when Mullen spontaneously concocts a bit about a Holocaust-denying Bill Cosby who hosts a show called “Kids Say the Most F*cked Up Sh*t.” The bit shows how nimbly proficient Halkias was at assisting Mullen’s comedic layups.  

Friedland is another story. In his own words: “I was on a moronic podcast, and I was a nebbish-y heel. People called me a bug, and I had to tell my parents that’s how I made money.” Don’t let this self-evaluation fool you, though; Friedland’s positions as bully-bait and arch story– and bit–derailer was an integral part of the podcast’s identity, producing some of the funniest moments and memes across the Cum Town corpus.  

For one thing, Friedland’s relegated comedic position on the podcast had an incredible community-creating effect through a set of memes related to his unique heelish qualities still circulating in the fanbase to this day. It is hard to find a comment section under Cum Town clips online without seeing fans giving ESPN-esque analyses on how Friedland derails a particular moment, messes up a bit, or is trying and failing to be cool. The flip side of this is true as well; for the rare moments where Friedland positively contributes to a bit, it is often commented on by fans in a hyperbolically celebratory way.  

If this sounds harsh — and frankly it was — there’s some solace to be taken in that Friedland has had something of a redemptive arch to his career as of late with respect to the standardized abuse he took on Cum Town. He essentially alchemized the same traits that made him a punching bag on the podcast into being the comedic backbone of his ongoing internet talk show The Adam Friedland Show. 

On TAFS, Friedland leans on his pitiable heel-ish traits and conversation-derailing abilities to create incredibly funny moments through conversational corks that are highly contrasting to the show’s pretenses to providing PBS-style informative interviews. The aesthetic and formal qualities that the show has which are befitting of serious late-night talk shows, from a carpeted Cavette-esque studio and pre-interview monologues to theatrical lighting sequences and end credits, end up forming something of a Trojan Horse for Friedland’s silly, out-of-field conversational punchlines which he delivers on his disparate celebrity guests (Neil DeGrasse Tyson, Chris Cuomo, Norman Finkelstein).  

But despite the show’s wool-over-the-eyes aping of a late-night talk show format to give punch to Friedland’s hilarious out-of-field topic swerves, he still pulls interesting personal, informational and genuinely heartfelt moments out of his guests. But I digress. 

Friedland was just as essential to Cum Town’s success as his podcast mates, the only difference being that his appeal came from being able to roll with the punches rather than what he chose to do for the most part. Nothing testifies to this more than one of Friedland’s defining moments on the podcast, a moment that will forever be in the annals (pardon the potential pun) of Cum Town’s greatest hits: when he defecated in his pants in the middle of recording an episode by accident.  

The last thing I want to note about what made this comedy podcast a gem was its commitment to maintaining low-quality production value.  

Even when the podcast started earning over a million dollars a year through membership fees, this was never reflected in experimental video content, planned high-budget segments or anything of the like. Not only that, but the three seemingly refused to do ad reads correctly, causing much laughter from fans despite the risk of losing sponsors.  

In fact, one of the biggest technical additions that came to the show during its financial zenith was a soundboard app programmed by Mullen. And with this new technological implement on the show, Mullen used it to, well, make a joke about Halkias being replaced by using soundbites of his voice to make a “Stavbot,” as well as, on another occasion, putting Friedland in a “box” by placing an echoey-muted sound effect over his mic feed to make him unintelligible. Yup, that’s it.  

It was an unabashedly amateur and bare-bones podcast from a technical standpoint for its seven-year run, but its charm relied on that aesthetic — anything else would have diminished their comedic product.  

Cum Town was ultimately a brilliant podcast because, beyond the breaming talent between its three hosts, its sole focus was making people laugh. It stands in stark opposition to bro-ish comedy podcasts today because its hosts are genuinely relatable people who don’t see how what they joke about is connected to coddling the rich, ignoring the issues minorities face and thinking universal healthcare is a slippery slope to communism.  

— 

Now, I can’t think of a more appropriate way to close this ode out than an honourable mentions list of some of my favourite, as well as fan-favourite, moments from the podcast that weren’t already highlighted.  

Enjoy: 

The time the boys sported their theatre hats as The Cum Town Players and created a 20-minute audio-exclusive interpolative play on To Kill A Mockingbird where the saga ends in a canonically-similar high-stakes trial, except this time “Atticus Mullen’s” final realization in front of the court is that the American South’s racism was premised on a grand error of the eye. The problem, he decrees, was in thinking Black people were, um, scary ghosts from, uh, “ghost town.” “Case closed!” Atticus Mullen states emphatically after his epiphanic realization before a British-takeover twist takes the play into boyish absurdity.  

All of Nick’s best characters and accents: Mershon, the Iranian high-general assassinated by Trump whose voicemail recordings were leaked and through them it was revealed that he had extensive correspondence with a close contact about his doctor’s reports that he had a micropenis; pedophile Anton Chigur from No Country for Old Men; the “Nigerian Shark Tank” guest where one of his genius ideas is a door on wheels with a slogan of “you can be a door man even at the beach”; Don King as a defence attorney for Derek Chauvin who tries to get him to learn Chinese to make him appear culturally sensitive in front of the jury; Mullen’s rewriting of The Confessions of St. Augustine; Indian Star Trek; and the classic Cool Adam.  

The time Halkias accidentally said “thousand-island stare” instead of the proper expression of “thousand-yard stare,” causing Mullen to pounce like a jaguar for the jugular.  

The time the boys made up a scenario where young Ben Shapiro is molested by Boy Meets World’s Mr. Feeny after winning a meet-and-great competition, the details of the assault explaining both Shapiro’s knack for argumentation as well as his high-pitched voice.  

The time the boys had a legendary argument about how many Costco samples you can take, and, by extension, whether Costco can be considered a catered event or not.  

And, of course, the best moments of the soundboard era.  

A special thanks to @saulfr, or saul on YouTube, for his original animations of moments from the podcast, many of which are linked in this article for the bits I mention. 

When I stumble out onto the ice-covered sidewalk of Queen Street East from the warmth of the packed streetcar, I have only two things on my mind: Josh Jenkinson and a ride back to Union Station. 

Around me, a line of wildly ill-clad, underdressed young people has begun to form, quickly wrapping around the façade of Drake’s new music venue, History. Glowing light emanates from a long screen displaying ticker-tape-esque text that reads “INHALER.” The sign would have been helpful confirmation that I was in the right place had the wall of leather jackets and Doc Marten boots not already tipped me off. 

For March 1, it’s desperately cold. Bundled in a long coat and a huge scarf I’ve wrapped tightly around my face, I quietly curse the stupid groundhog who saw his shadow and triggered six more weeks of winter. The weather wouldn’t be so hard to bear had it not been 10 degrees earlier in the week, giving us all a false sense of hope and melting the snow so it could freeze and turn into hazardous amounts of ice. 

When the doors open, we scuffle forward in an attempt not to slip and fall headfirst into a frozen snowbank, I make eye contact with a girl wearing jean shorts and a black t-shirt. She doesn’t look all that bothered by the cold, and considering I’ve just spent the last 15 minutes wondering whether they would accept snow pants at coat check, I figure I’ve probably reached the stage of hypothermia where you start to hallucinate.  

I don’t have much time to think about it though, because I am suddenly confronted by a remarkably industrious assembly line of security procedures. After having my driver’s license scrutinized for much longer than necessary at an all-ages venue, my bag checked thrice and my body scanned with not one but two metal-detecting devices, I’m finally inside and wishing I didn’t have to shrug off my coat.  

After languidly checking in my outerwear, I wander down into the pit and find myself in the second row, people slowly filling the space around me with overpriced drinks in hand and merch draped over their shoulders.  

I watch as the opener, an American indie rock band from New York called Been Stellar, disassembles their instruments and clears the stage after their set. The liminal period that exists between the opener and the main act always passes languidly, and by the time I glance down at my phone for what feels like the 800th time, I’m starting to get antsy. 

As sweaty bodies brush against sweaty bodies, the clock ticks down to 9 p.m. and suddenly, the lights go dark and smoke billows onto the stage, sending the restless crowd into a frenzy.  

The four boys that make up Inhaler enter stage left and take their places, adjusting guitar straps and fiddling with drumsticks. While they’re desperately trying to play it cool (an act they are only partially getting away with), I’ve always secretly thought that off stage, they all must be just as awkward as every other boy in his early twenties. Although with every show of theirs I see they get better at hiding it, they feel just as human to me today as they did when I saw them play their first solo show in Toronto in 2022. At least this time they didn’t have to kick their opener off the stage for sounding like a flaming, screeching car wreck.  

A driving drum beat and an electric, synth guitar line sends the crowd into a wild fit of cheering as Josh Jenkinson, the band’s guitarist, wastes no time getting the show started. For years, the band finished their sets with “My Honest Face,” a raucous rock anthem that put Inhaler on the map back in 2019, yet today they have chosen to start the show with it. It’s an interesting switch, one that briefly catches me off guard, but the reaction from the crowd tells me it was the right choice.  

Blue strobe lights illuminate the mob of people who have congregated in the pit, all of whom are proudly screaming the song lyrics. In the darkness, it’s hard to tell whose limbs are who’s as bodies melt into one another on the dance floor. Rob Keating’s thrumming bass line blares out of the speakers positioned right above my head, keeping the track, which is quickly dissolving into perfect musical chaos, from running completely off the rails.  

As I throw my head back, I get lost in the sound of Eli Hewson’s voice. Every fibre of my being desperately wants to completely disappear into the sound enveloping me, yet just as I am about to let my eyes flutter shut and surrender, the song ends and the crowd erupts into clamorous cheers. 

I’m not safe for long though. I spend the rest of the show fighting the wash of equanimity that has flooded over me, lulling me into a state of rhythmic hypnosis. The comforting familiarity of Ryan McMahon’s crashing drumbeats vibrate through me as I fade into the musicality of tracks I’ve heard a million times. While I rarely know the words to many of their newest songs, I never lose touch with the feeling of euphoria slowly taking over my body inch by inch.  

When I wake up from my trance that had expropriated me, I’m running to catch a streetcar that will take me back to Union Station. While everything around me has snapped into sharp focus, a glance back at the venue provides me with one last glimpse of the misty world of contentment I left behind through an open door.  

When I stumble out onto the ice-covered sidewalk of Wellington Street West from the warmth of the deserted streetcar, I have only two things on my mind: Josh Jenkinson and when I’m going to see Inhaler again. 

The Department of Dramatic Arts reminds audiences of the timeless importance of storytelling in their feature production. 

A glowing orb backlighting the centre of the stage reflects velvet orange curtains, creating a sparkly hue that glitters against a pond in front of the first row of audience members — the production they are about to see is bound to make a splash. Undoubtably, Brock University’s Marilyn I. Walker stage is fit to host gods, mortals and spirits alike. 

In the misty orange glow, Brock University’s Dramatic Arts (DART) students bring to life Mary Zimmerman’s Metamorphoses, a play inspired by Ovid’s epic poem of the same name.  

Metamorphoses is more than just a retelling of ancient mythology. The play draws on the timelessness of storytelling, immersing the audience in the ancient Roman context in which Ovid originally wrote his collection of myths while occasionally reminding them that the play’s interpreters have our modern context in mind. 

The connection from Ovid’s Metamorphoses to our contemporary social context is clear when Assistant Director Scott Young Yoo ushers the play into its beginning. Young Yoo begins the production with a land acknowledgement skillfully connected to the play itself. By approaching the land acknowledgement with as much care and thought as the rest of production, Young Yoo successfully conveys the importance of recognizing the land on which our art takes place. 

According to Director and DART faculty member Gyllian Raby, the directors aimed to “break away from a colonized view” of artistic education. 

“At Marilyn I. Walker, we try to bring a gratitude and awareness of social injustice to the gratitude for our ability to make creative work, because that is something that is robbed of so many people,” said Raby. 

Raby’s commitment to gratitude in bringing Metamorphoses to a contemporary audience works favourably in many ways. The modern context is acknowledged not only through overt artistic decisions — like the play’s emphasis on its prefacing land acknowledgement — but also in subtle quips from the play’s characters, who occasionally break away from Ovid’s world to share a humorous comment with the audience, such as comparing the chariot of the sun to a sweet hot rod. 

The swift shifts between the ancient setting of the play and the inclusion of modern language keeps audiences intrigued, seeking to know which character they will share a moment with next. 

Metamorphoses is a very complex text when it comes to adaptation. As the play spans several myths instead of devoting three acts to just one story, the directors were tasked with threading a connection between the complex stories while maintaining both the attention and understanding of audience members. 

Raby mentioned that just one section of the play can include up to twenty-five action units — the smallest unit of action with a distinct beginning, middle and end — which is more than what would appear in a film. During these action units, audiences must understand the cues that signal to which character they are supposed to be watching at any moment while also digesting the dynamics between characters, assuming they do not have a vast knowledge of Ovid’s original poem. 

However daunting and deeply intertextual this task may seem, Raby and Young Yoo executed it seamlessly alongside their cast and production teams. 

Raby attributed the successful flow in Metamorphoses to Lighting Designer Chris Malkowski and Composer Joe Lapinski. Subtle mood shifts — and even world shifts — are foretold by changing hues and background noises, such as when Orpheus seeks out the long-lost Eurydice in a mysterious underworld, where light only comes in dark purple hues. 

Integral to the audience’s immersion into Ovid’s world is the outstanding work of all cast members in the play. According to Raby, the cast was required to do a “complete analysis” of their characters before rehearsals began. Notably, every cast member had more than one role to embody throughout Metamorphoses. Commenting on the intricacy required to perform in Metamorphoses, Young Yoo noted that it is a tough task to understand the inner motives of each separate character, but also increasingly difficult to embody how these motives shift as characters evolve throughout the play. 

“There’s a lot of feeling that goes into acting, but then there’s also just this analysis work that you have to accomplish,” said Young Yoo. “If you don’t understand the arc of the story, how is the audience supposed to?” 

Fortunately, the whole cast deeply immersed themselves into the feelings, desires and worlds of the characters they embodied. From Gia Lupparelli Nash’s entirely moving and guttural performance as Hunger, dominating the stage with her snarling demands for “more,” to Elliot Barron’s masterful embodiment of the sarcastic and flippant King Midas, the entire cast radiated with passion and a dedication to their craft. 

Although Metamorphoses is set in times that have long passed, the play’s dedication to storytelling rings endlessly relevant. Young Yoo said there was a clear “mutual respect” between everyone working on the play as they came together to breathe life into Ovid’s myths. 

“There was such a great sense of community, and it was all to just tell stories,” said Young Yoo. “We brought this huge group of artists together to create this beautiful project and it was all to tell stories.” 

Filled to the brim with passion from every member of its production, Metamorphoses brings Ovid’s myths to a modern audience and makes clear that the centuries-old appreciation for the craft of storytelling is a timeless one. 

High school students across Canada are preparing for Brock University’s upcoming DART Invitationals. 

DART, an acronym that refers to the Dramatic Arts program at Brock University, recently held their first annual invitational of the year on March 1. Students who received a conditional offer of admission to the Bachelor of Arts (Honours) Dramatic Arts or Bachelor of Arts (Honours)/Dramatic Arts Concurrent Education programs were invited to attend the invitational, held at the Marilyn I. Walker School of Fine & Performing Arts (MIWSFPA), as a part of their admissions process.  

Unlike other, more traditional auditions, students who attended the invitational participated in a series of workshops that allowed them to develop introductory skills in performance, creation, design and production. The day gave students an opportunity to use what they learned to work together and create a piece of theatre with their peers.   

In preparation for the second invitational on May 3, The Brock Press spoke to DART student Adia Buckle — who participated in the process in May 2024 — about her experience being a part of the event. 

Buckle said while she got nervous driving herself from her hometown of Hamilton, she was “so excited to create.”  

The day started with a series of activities that allowed Buckle and her fellow classmates to get comfortable in the space they would be working in. The attendees, having been asked to read Sophocles’ play Antigone, all came with an essay they had prepared about the work. Their reading and writing helped guide them, inspiring many of the pieces they worked on throughout the day.  

This work was facilitated by upper-year student volunteers, professors and other Brock staff, allowing students like Buckle the opportunity to meet some of their future DART peers. David Vivian, a professor in the Dramatic Arts department at Brock, said he thinks professors and the current students are the heart of the DART invitational experience. 

“The Chair of the Department, Jennifer Roberts Smith, and the Invitational team of faculty and students, begin the day with presentations to the applicants and their parents and guardians about the program […] and then about the ideas that circulate in and inform our understanding of the play that we have asked our applicants to come prepared to investigate and explore during the day [of the invitational],” said Vivian. 

By allowing students to work with their prospective instructors, Vivian believes DART places all their applicants on a path to success for when they arrive in September. The process also allows students to get acquainted with the campus. 

“I had an opportunity to meet some of my future classmates,” said Buckle, an experience that gave her and her peers something to talk about when classes started in the fall. “Even figuring out where the bathrooms were prior to the first week of school was a comfort to me in those first days of university where everything was a little scary.” 

But most meaningful to Buckle was the experience she had working with her group to create a piece of theatre. “The moment where all of us were excitedly brainstorming, our passion at an all-time high,” said Buckle, “that is my favourite part of theatre creation.”  

While Buckle has spent much of her life working in the theatre world, she said the adrenaline of that moment is what draws her back to the work time after time. Getting to work alongside fellow artists and creatives helped cement her choice to pursue studies in dramatic arts at Brock University.  

Creating this feeling is the goal for Vivian and the other event organizers, as Vivian said participants often report that the experience helped them make sure they were making the right choice.  

“[Students] often remark that our methods and the context of learning at the MIWSFPA are different than what they’ve experienced when applying for other programs,” said Vivian, “and that by participating in the Invitational, they’ve discovered something that is unique and attractive to them.” 

Vivian, much like the students who attend the invitational, has found that his favourite part of the process is getting to learn about applicants’ dreams and hopes for the future, as well as what matters most in their lives. 

“Our applicants never fail to impress us with the depth and breadth of their passion for making theatre,” said Vivian, “whether by teaching theatre to youth in their future careers as teachers, as theatre artists, content generators, scholars and researchers, [or] as entrepreneurs and community leaders who want to make change in our world.”  

The work that Vivian and his colleagues are doing is important and timely, shaping young artistic minds to ensure the future of dramatic arts is in exceptionally good hands.  

Brock Musical Theatre’s take on the all-time classic Grease was bold, fun and blew the audience away.  

As the doors opened and I strolled inside to find my seat with a glossy program in hand, I quickly found myself immersed in the world of Rydell High School.  

While the Robertson Theatre is a relatively small space, the set design for Brock Musical Theatre’s production of Grease was still quite impressive, especially with the limited budget sizes BUSU clubs are typically alloted. Prioritizing dynamic movement and interesting levels, the set consisted of raised metal platforms and rudimentary scaffolding, the latter of which created a catwalk above the set’s main level. A few rubber tires accented the corners of the stage and a banner featuring images of period-popular stars such as James Dean and Marilyn Monroe hung overhead. Although the set was simple, it was incredibly effective. Although a rather small touch, the pre-show playlist, which featured 1950s hits, expertly rounded out the theatre’s atmosphere and showcased the creative team’s commitment to audience immersion.  

As the lights went dark and the overture began to play, we were introduced to an older woman played by Lucy Burnett. Referred to as “Greaser Lady” in the program, Burnett took centre stage to reminisce, flipping through the 1959 edition of the Rydell High School yearbook. As the overture ended and the stage flooded with the rest of the cast taking their places to sing “Alma Mater,” the show took shape and sprung to life. 

Throughout the first act, the audience was introduced to the host of characters that occupied Northwest Chicago’s Rydell High at the tail end of the 1950s. 

The Pink Ladies — Rizzo (Anna Varga), Frenchie (Abbey Rivers), Marty (Kashvi Sharma) and Jan (Moria Vaughan-Lee) — lit up the space with their bright back-and-forth banter and hilarious one-liners. Vaughan-Lee’s portrayal of Jan was especially electric as she balanced expert vocals and perfect comedic timing. 

The Greaser Guys — Kenickie (Cam Playter), Sonny (Tejay Morley), Roger (Sidd Goyal) and Doody (Natali Tobar) — were also standouts. Playter’s Kenickie was bold, and the characters of Sonny and Roger skillfully walked the fine line between unbelievably ridiculous and perfectly goofy. The gender-bent portrayal of Doody by Tobar shone the brightest, her jokes and gags always managing to pull a full-bellied laugh from the audience.  

The comradery that existed between the two gangs throughout the whole show was arguably the highlight of the production. It was easy to believe that a deep friendship existed between both groups and that this had been the case for many years, highlighting the strong connection shared between the cast members.  

Still, the relationship between Emily Moore’s Sandy Dumbrowski and Landon Drexler’s Danny Zuko was truly the heart of the show.  

Moore’s portrayal of the girl next door Sandy Dumbrowski was beyond strong. While it can be difficult to believably play quiet innocence in a musical theatre production where everything must be exaggerated, Moore did a great job of playing Sandy’s sweet personality, yet her demeanor wasn’t so small that she was lost in the crowd.  

Drexler’s portrayal of bad boy Danny Zuko was dynamic and new. It was clear that Drexler made a conscious choice to shift from the way Danny’s character is often played. He made him a hopeless goofball rather than a major jerk, leaning into the character’s awkwardness and cringing at himself in a way that made his portrayal of Danny feel incredibly human.  

While the cast occasionally struggled to find the balance between accentuating the show’s unique humour and being so goofy that the characters began to feel unbelievable, there was no doubt that they worked hard to bring this production to life.  

The dance numbers, choreographed by Emma Clarke, were clean and well-rehearsed, showcasing the amount of work the cast and dance captain Moira Vaughan-Lee put into learning Clarke’s hard-hitting choreography. The show’s choral sections were also fine-tuned and the cast’s expert ability to harmonize was well showcased. The show’s musical director, Bailey Williams, and vocal captain, Sidd Goyal, clearly prepared the cast well.  

Other elements of the show such as sound and light design were good, although they sometimes left more to be desired. The set transitions felt clunky at times with many of them occurring while the stage lights were still on, which took the audience out of their state of suspended disbelief. Furthermore, there were a few instances when an actor began to speak or sing before their microphone had been turned on, temporarily breaking the immersion. While these issues likely came as a result of the cast and crew not being allowed ample time to rehearse in the theatre space before the production opened, these technical problems should have been less of a problem by the midway point of the show’s run.  

Still, with a relatively small budget, Brock Musical Theatre did an excellent job with their production of Grease and should be commended for their ability to make such magic with the resources they had. The cast and crew’s commitment to both the production of the show and the creation of its characters made the aforementioned complaints seem rather small at the end of the night.  

Lana Del Rey’s Honeymoon still brings crystal-clear images of a white-hot and melodramatic summer 10 years later. 

Released in the early days of September 2015, Honeymoon encapsulates the highs and lows of a romance-filled summer. The 14 sultry odes on the album range from pleads of desperation for a lover to return to depictions of an engulfing romance. 

With Honeymoon, Lana Del Rey, known off-stage as Elizabeth Grant, followed her widely successful debut Born to Die alongside its sister EP Paradise, as well as her dark sophomore work Ultraviolence. 

Although Honeymoon remains wholly original in Grant’s discography, some of its tracks take influence from the records that preceded it. This is likely because some of Honeymoon’s tracks were envisioned during the creation of Ultraviolence. Tracks like “Freak” and “Art Deco” could have easily appeared on Born to Die, mirroring the sizzling party anthems found on Grant’s debut. Similarly, “Religion” and “The Blackest Day” would thematically fit on Ultraviolence, sharing discussions of blind obsession backlit by a distinctly dark sound. 

Despite some thematic mirroring with her earlier releases, on a sonic level, Honeymoon brings an entirely individualized sound to Grant’s discography. 

In an interview with BBC Radio 1, Grant said that her love for the word “Honeymoon” inspired the album’s title, saying it’s “probably the most romantic word.” 

Grant expanded on Honeymoon’s thematic sound in the interview, saying that the album’s production began with Grant “knowing exactly what [she] was doing” before it progressed into something she didn’t expect. Grant cited the album’s atmospheric “touch of psychedelia” and loud production as unplanned, despite their core influences on the album’s recognizable sound today. 

The album unmistakably takes place in the depths of summer. The fourth track, “God Knows I Tried,” opens with a sizzling noise that replicates the sound of cicadas buzzing on a hot summer night. On “Freak,” Grant plays to her summery setting when comparing the deep summer heat to the way she feels for her lover, expressing that her “hot love’s full of fire.” 

Honeymoon creates an atmosphere of melodrama right from the opening title track “Honeymoon.” The record opens with high pitched violins that fade and rise in intensity before silencing when Grant’s vocals begin. 

The album shifts between depictions of almost reckless feelings of freedom juxtaposed with the desperation that arises in a complicated relationship. On the title track, Grant sings softly about a world where it is just herself and her partner, musing that they could “cruise to the blues” or do “whatever you want to do,” framing her world around their connection. 

Grant’s thematic concern with an almost obsessive romantic connection continues in tracks like “Salvatore,” “Swan Song” and “Religion,” where she declares that her faith to her lover is like a religion. 

However, Honeymoon also explores the flipside of a romance that fully engulfs you, with tracks like “The Blackest Day” depicting the emphasized pain that comes when her lover abandons her. In this track, Grant sings that “looking for love / in all the wrong places” led her to being “on [her] own again.” 

Honeymoon is equally melancholic and deeply introspective, with thought-provoking lyrics interrupting the melodrama of several tracks. For example, at the end of the title track “Honeymoon,” after depicting a world where the speaker’s life revolves around her lover, Grant repeatedly sings the lyrics “dreaming away your life” to end the song. 

The album also has a spoken word interlude, where Grant philosophizes for a minute and a half. She asks if “time present and time past / are both perhaps present in time future” before continuing to muse about the concept of time. 

The interlude finishes by relating her philosophical inquiries back to the main thematic focus of the album, with Grant saying that her and her lover’s “footfalls echo in the memory / down the passage which we did not take / towards the door we never opened into the rose garden.” 

The album finishes with a cover of Nina Simone’s famous track “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood,” which is more than fitting for the experiences Grant explores on Honeymoon, asking her lover — and listeners themselves — not to judge her for being “just human” with “faults like anyone.” 

Honeymoon is a vast exploration of human emotion, seeking to display that even downward spirals in love can be backlit by beautiful instrumentals and lush images. Despite a decade passing since its release, Honeymoon is as timeless as ever, returning annually to soundtrack sultry summer days. 

While the city of Toronto has a vibrant arts scene, enjoying it can often be unaffordable. From transport to accommodations to the price of tickets alone, being a patron of the arts is often unrealistic for the everyday person.  

Here are three ways that post-secondary students can enjoy Toronto’s arts and entertainment scene without breaking the bank. 

Public Transit 

To enjoy Toronto, you first need to be able to get there. Using public transit options such as GO Transit or the TTC are cost-efficient ways to get into and around the city.  

What is the easiest way to use public transit? For post-secondary students, Presto is the way to go. With one black card, you can pay for the fares of 11 different transit agencies in and around the GTA.  

The user-friendly Presto card only costs $4 and with the use of the Presto app, loading money onto your card is super easy. Not only does Presto allow you to stop wasting time using ticket machines and fumbling around with loose change, but it also provides its users with a 15 per cent discount on standard fare. Even better, post-secondary students get 40 per cent off, knocking nearly half of the price off your ticket. 

For those planning on travelling using GO Transit, Presto is still a great option. However, on the weekends, the more cost-effective option is the GO Weekend Pass. Only $10, the GO Weekend Pass is valid for 24 hours and can be used on as many GO train or bus rides as you need. While it unfortunately only covers GO Transit and not the TTC, the cost of one full-price ride from Burlington to Union Station is over $14 just one way. With the Weekend Pass (which also can be used on holidays), you can cut the cost of just one ride by $4 and if you plan to utilize the pass for more rides than that, you are essentially using transit for free.  

Transit usually runs pretty quickly and frequently. While not always the most time-efficient option, it does save money by eliminating the need to pay for astronomically expensive parking or the wildly fluctuating price of Ubers around the city. This makes it an easy way to cut costs when you are trying to enjoy the art and entertainment scene in Toronto.  

Student Discounts 

As a student, many places around Toronto offer discounts to anyone enrolled in a post-secondary institution.  

The Toronto Symphony Orchestra, for example, offers $20 rush tickets for the Main floor and Balcony and $35 for Mezzanine, and the TIFF Bell Lightbox offers $11 tickets during the regular season and free screenings during the TIFF Next Wave Festival. But these are not the only options for student discounts. Many places have some kind of student offer hoping to bring more young people into the world of art. There’s is no harm in checking to see if the event you want to attend offers a lower price to those enrolled in post-secondary school, as it might just save you a chunk of change! 

Pay What You Can or Free Admission 

Another great way to enjoy the art and entertainment scene in Toronto is by utilizing the pay-what-you-can (PWYC) system. Many museums, such as the BATA Shoe Museum, Mackenzie House and the Spadina Museum, offer certain days where you can simply pay what you can to enter. On days when this is not offered, you can simply check out what local museums have free admission. The Museum of Contemporary Art has free admission on Fridays from 5 to 9 p.m. and the Royal Ontario Museum is free on the third Monday of each month from 5 to 8 p.m. These offers make it super easy to cut costs when you are trying to enjoy the art and entertainment scene in Toronto. 

— 

Although enjoying the overabundance of culture Toronto has to offer can sometimes be expensive, there are many ways to make the experience worthwhile while staying on a budget. 

Stressed-out Badgers are in luck: tickets are still available for the Vertigo Music Festival, the perfect distraction from the anxieties of March. 

Dubbed “Niagara’s dizziest festival experience,” the Vertigo Music Festival returns to Brock this Saturday, March 15, after launching last year. Boasting an impressive 13-band lineup across two stages, the festival’s second iteration promises to be bigger and better than its predecessor. 

Whether you stick to the Main Stage or the Side Stage or traverse between both, festivalgoers are in for a sprawling aural epic of musical excellence, with the opener starting at 3 p.m. and the main act not coming on until 10 p.m. 

Better yet, all these bands are local within Ontario, some even within the region. Maggot Pizza and Sunshine Express, two of the early acts, are both signed under the Niagara-based record label Routine Exploits, and pop artist Sophi is from Niagara Falls. 

You’ll find me at the main stage, rocking out to the seven bands spanning emo, punk, electronic, indie, rock and other genres: Maggot Pizza, JULES IS DEAD, Sun Junkies, Sunshine Express, DEAR-GOD, Cam Kahin and the headlining, certified rockers, The Dirty Nil. 

The Dirty Nil single-handedly make the ticket worth it for me. I’m a recent fan, but I fell hard for these punk-rockers, whose songs exude youthful, carefree energy and have a wicked knack for getting my head to shake back and forth. Despite St. Catharines being an old haunt of theirs, having played at Merchant Ale House and Warehouse in their early years, I’ve only seen them live once for their AC/DC tribute show in Hamilton, which I covered in a previous article. At Vertigo, St. Catharines gets to welcome this stellar band once again with a new generation of Niagara punks. 

And with so many local powerhouses supporting them, Vertigo is gearing up to be one of the best local concerts in recent years — on a similar level, I’d argue, as the momentous Born & Raised concerts in 2022 and 2024. 

The Main Stage Vertigo show might be the best thing for stressed and burnt-out Badgers. Haven’t been to the gym since January? You’ll burn that winter weight right off after eight hours in the mosh pit. Worried about the political scene with the U.S.? These Canadians will give you but a taste of our country’s majesty. Stressed about exams, graduating and your future beyond your undergrad? The Nil’s chainsaw-ripping guitar riffs will drown those worries out, no problem. 

If that doesn’t sound like your cup of tea, the Side Stage might just be for you. With bands influenced by pop, folk, rock, jazz, country and alternative sounds, the show features Lydia Stephen, Soft Animals, Velvet Beach, Sophi, Lauren Dillen and prog-folk, femme-pop choral collective Minuscule. 

The Side Stage show won’t be nearly so intense, providing a serene and poetic experience — whether that’s experienced between the hard stuff or purely on its own. 

Tickets can be purchased for just the Main Stage ($69.83), the Side Stage ($48.88) or both ($97.77) on DICE. 

It wouldn’t be a festival without vendors, and that’s why Vertigo teamed up with Cozy Bones to organize a vendor fair with “20 amazing handmade and hand-curated vendors” alongside the live performances. Interested businesses can still sign up for a spot at $75 per table. Rosewood Print Co. and Warehouse Concert Hall are also listed as sponsors and partners alongside Cozy Bones. 

The Vertigo Music Festival promises to be the best local music event of the year: not only a showcase of local talent, but a rip-roaring rock concert, period. Let’s show these bands just how great Brock is: that we can rock with the best of them, and that we’re a crowd worth playing for. 

I’ll see you in the pit. 

Stay tuned to The Brock Press for my upcoming review of the Vertigo Music Festival Main Stage show. 

Score: 4/5 

Pop music pioneer Lady Gaga has returned with her seventh studio album MAYHEM, a chaotic, anthemic examination of her career and impressive flex of her musical prowess. 

With each of its tracks, MAYHEM throws a new handful of ideas at the wall, some of which land more than others. In the end, you’re left with a mosaic of ideas that hit the mark, while held back slightly by a few ideas that miss the mark. It’s mostly successful at honing Gaga’s strongest qualities, but it’s hard to avoid the few missed opportunities. 

First of all, let’s get one thing out of the way: none of these songs fall short of three minutes and thank God for that. In the age of two-minute, bridge-less, post-chorus-less, built-for-TikTok-snippet pop songs, Gaga takes the wheel and offers fully realized, complete songs. There’s plenty of open space between choruses and verses to soak in the pop-maximalism here. 

MAYHEM lacks the certain pulse behind Gaga’s previous albums that made them click. For instance, her previous 2020 release Chromatica had a vibrant, house-pop theme woven into Gaga’s fictional world with the same name. The string holding MAYHEM together is less firm and linear than her previous records, demanding attention to fully appreciate the effort she’s put in. 

The first taste of the album comes from the first single and opening track “Disease,” which could very well be the best of the bunch here. It’s quintessential Gaga, harkening back to the larger-than-life vocal performances on choruses from Born This Way and the deep, harsh beats of ARTPOP. “Disease” feels like a night out with an old friend where you’re reminded of all the reasons you love them and bear witness to their growth over the years. It’s a career highlight and one of MAYHEM’s best cuts. 

As the album’s second single and track, “Abracadabra” picks up the pace from the creeping bass of “Disease.” Overblown bass and synths, a throbbing acid beat teased across the track and a blaring vocal performance on the chorus that sounds more like an intelligible incantation than a coherent string of words (a trend across Gaga’s best songs) make this an overwhelmingly passionate, four-minute banger. 

“Garden of Eden” and “Perfect Celebrity” are throwbacks in every sense of the word. They’re grimy, alluring tracks ripped directly from the early days of The Fame era in the 2000s. The former is a nostalgic, shameless tune reminiscent of her early songs that birthed countless Little Monsters — Gaga’s fan base — back in the late 2000s: impressionable kids permanently altered by the “Bad Romance” music video. 

After an electrifying four-track run, the album begins to lose its edgy sound and adopts cleaner, groovy elements. “Vanish Into You” veers into ballad-territory blended with a throwback groove to its production. It’s familiar territory for Gaga and an amalgamation of the elements she does best, blending romance, impressive vocals and a sticky chorus engineered to ring in your head long after listening. 

“Zombieboy” has probably spawned on every Halloween party playlist across the internet by now. It’s an eclectic, throwback banger with one of the album’s catchiest choruses: “Oh, I can’t see straight and my hands are tied / I could be your type from your zombie bite.” 

MAYHEM’s biggest pitfall is, ironically, the lack of mayhem going on throughout. The most impressive tracks are lined up one after another in the first half, setting the tone for a gritty, high-energy experience. However, the energy progressively dwindles, shifting in tone to safer, approachable songs packaged as universally accessible tunes. The B-side tracks each lack a certain quirk integral to their identities. If the weaker tracks were shaved down, the front-heavy A-side would be much more effective as a shorter album. 

As bizarre as it seems to have 2024’s radio-hit single “Die With a Smile” as the closing track, it strangely works here due to the ballad quality of previous tracks. MAYHEM’s chaotic musical evolution is tied up nicely with a romantic anthem to soundtrack any occasion: weddings, funerals, graduations… You name it and it’ll fit. 

MAYHEM is the sort of album whose identity will be shaped by memories and time. It’s not quite as clear cut as some of Gaga’s previous work, but it revels in being unreadable. It’s meant to be soaked in, soundtrack the listener’s life and shape the landscape of pop music. Time will tell how this album is remembered, but as it stands, MAYHEM is already eager to live rent-free in your head.