Flitting around with a Canon digital SLR, unabashedly curious, Mark the Cobrasnake takes your photo. Or Kathy of Kathyisyourfriend.com. Or Lindsaysdiet, lastnightsparty, ad infinitum. They are doing their part at The Party, telling the story with blinding light and a fast lens.

I just spent five or six minutes scanning through my whole iTunes list trying to figure out who these guys sound exactly like. It was on the tip of my brain's tongue...something kind of fuzzy, legitimately psychedelic, from an age only a few decades previous yet so much a part of ancient history...but I wasn't finding it.

What a selection of booze on display at the Peanut Gallery on Saturday night: two-litre pop bottles with the labels ripped off and a quarter full of sepia-tinted de-carbonated something, 50ml testers of various distinctions, cheap wines (bought), expensive wines (stolen), a dozen different labels of cheap beer (is there not-cheap beer?), a bottle of Malibu (!?), a rag full of ether (in my head), etc. Vancouver continues to excel in the field of diversity.

Originally I had planned on mentioning Prince, Velvet Goldmine, and that easily definable major-label Autralian indie-dance-pop sound. But I'm really bad at writing, so I'm going to pass this one over to the comments left by those who watched the video for the album's title song, "Walking on a Dream":

I remember how seriously bummed I was when The Organ decided to call it quits in late 2006. As far as I was concerned at that point, The Organ weren’t just the best band in Vancouver, they were the best band the city had produced in my lifetime of giving a damn about the Vancouver music scene (as in, not long enough for mine to be a valid opinion, really). Their brand of sparse, brooding, well-crafted indie pop was just the sort of thing I was bemoaning the city’s lack of upon returning from five months in London.

If Adbuster's recent shockwave inducing article about hipsters raised any sort of pertinent thought, it presented the idea that self examination of our supposed "subculture" is about right on time. We've all been participating in the same rituals for the past few years, dressing the part and engaging in rambunctious behaviors centered around clubbing/concerting/fucking/fighting/puking without nary a moment of self reflection.

In the never-ending search for the next big thing, the masses of the blog illuminati have recently stumbled upon a Vancouver based femme two-piece by the name of Fan Death. Named after a South Korean superstition concerning the fear that electric fans "if left running overnight in a closed room, can cause the death (by suffocation, poisoning, or hypothermia) of those inside", the lovely duo has just released their first single titled "Veronica's Veil".

Shit creeps along in shadows and murk. Phil Collins eating mescaline and soundtracking an 80s gore-porn. That room upstairs at the party with the door locked and strange laughter coming out from underneath. Text drawings. Depleted serotonin/recovered serotonin. Strange vibrations.

When exactly did Kitsuné morph from the prophetic tastemaking label to the "get on here to make it big real quick" label?

Let's start with the positives, shall we? Well, Positive - singular. Alice Glass is an intriguing stage presence. As I watched Crystal Castles lengthily delayed and predictably strobe-lit show at Dick's on Friday I found myself, at times, critically disengaged - entertained, even - by all the spindly flailing and inaudible chanting going on.