(Merge)
Poor Dan Bejar. The hirsute Canadian should have been a fiery Latin. Not to get all cliché on that ass (though white people do do this), but Bejar is a passionate, passionate man whose lust for words, women, his own always just-out-of-reach ambition, and its unattainable goal — The Perfect Song — burns burns burns.
Listening to what begins to seem like the same nine-minute epic over and over reminds me of the scene in Annie Hall, where naïve young Annie falls for the transparently pretentious, self-styled artiste whose interest in the arts is overshadowed by his interest in nailing chicks, man.
Having survived my 20s, painfully, I had to know many guys like this, who teetered on the edge of bipolar disorder. Some could play instruments well, or write or sing like a more glam-inspired Bob Dylan, but most didn't get as far as this fiery Canuck. I guess that counts for something.
c. 2008 LEO Weekly
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