Article snippet: Cub mentioned in book

Here's a brief snippet from the book Malcolm Lowry: From the Mersey to the World
By Bryan Biggs, Helen Tookey.

About the book:

Malcolm Lowry described Liverpool as 'that terrible city whose main street is the oceanż. Born on the Wirral side of the river Mersey, Lowryżs relationship to the Merseyside of his youth informs all of his writing and Liverpool itself continued to hold tremendous significance for him, even though he never returned. Published in conjunction with a festival and exhibition at Liverpoolżs Bluecoat arts centre celebrating Lowryżs centenary, this beautifully produced book showcases a variety of creative and critical approaches to Lowry and his work, and includes twelve specially commissioned pieces of new writing. There is a particular focus on place and on journeys; contributors write from the UK, Europe, Canada and Mexico, and reflect both on Lowryżs 'voyage that never endsż and on their own journeys with and through Lowryżs work. The book also demonstrates the richness of Lowryżs influence on contemporary visual artists and includes full colour illustrations throughout. It will be an indispensable companion for anyone interested in the creative legacy of Malcolm Lowryżs life and work.

Article snippet: Cub mentioned in psychology magazine?

Can't find much about this article:

Title No depression, Issues 49-54
Publisher No Depression, 2004
Original from the University of Virginia

Article: "On The Verge" from Canadian Music Journal, November 1996

Source: CMJ via Google Books

Photo article: Potatomen play with cub

Source: http://southbendpower90s.blogspot.com/2009_09_01_archive.html, which includes a couple of cub posters.

Article: From Rolling Stone, November 14, 1996

Lifted from the blog at cub's Myspace page:

Much like the early Go-Go's albums, Cub's sunny harmonies and sing-along refrains blend the '60s girl-group tradition with three-chord punk songwriting. So when a friend of the band [nicolas bragg of the vancouver band destroyer] described Cub's music as "cuddlecore" a few years ago, the Canadian trio was amused at first and even emblazoned CUDDLECORE '94 inside its first LP, Betti-Cola.

The moniker soon got old. "People want to pin performers down in general, especially women," says bassist Lisa Marr. On Cub's third LP, Box Of Hair, they show signs of more core and less cuddle. "It's just more direct," says Marr. "Our albums are poppy and quiet, but our live show is noisy and aggressive. That surprises people, which is good."

Cub seem to enjoy keeping folks guessing. The title of their 1995 LP, Come Out, Come Out!, had the press in Vancouver, British Columbia, speculating on the band's sexual preferences. "Come Out, Come Out! means, 'Do whatever it is you want to do'," says Marr. "Not necessarily, 'Hello, I am a lesbian." But I just like to perpetuate rumors. I got outed in a Vancouver paper, which cracks me up." (For the record, Marr [was] married to Ronnie Barnett of the Muffs.)

Cub are dead serious about running the band, however. The threesome tours incessantly and answers its growing piles of mail by hand. "A lot of girls have told us that they've started playing music because of us," says Marr. "That, to me, is really cool." And as you might expect from a band that covers both Yoko Ono and Motorhead tunes, Cub are not afraid of change. "I've tried to incorporate dancers into our set," says drummer Lisa Nielsen. "Every night I wander around looking for people to dance onstage. They're not into it."

- from rolling stone magazine - interview by anthony bozza, page 56 of issue 747, november 14, 1996.

Article: Vancouver's Cub scouts cute curse (October 31, 1995)

Vancouver's Cub scouts cute curse
By Hollie Shaw

TORONTO (CP) You can call Cub almost anything, but please don't call them cute.

When the Vancouver trio first formed in 1992, "cuddlecore" started out as a joke among friends as a way to define Cub's music.

Indeed, their junior excursions into catchy retro surf rock were as light and tasty as meringue. But times have changed, and the members of Cub are baring their teeth.

"It can be frustrating. Some people still view us as cute little girls fiddling around with instruments," says guitarist Robynn Iwata over breakfast at Toronto's O-Boy Cafe.

But isn't this the same Cub drawn to resemble a tawny version of Josie and the Pussycats on their first album cover? The Cub who became notorious for the infectious, maddeningly repetitive "Ooh La La Ooh Ee Cha Cha?" The Cub who threw candy at the audience during shows?

"The candy was ONLY to get people to come to the front of the stage," says drummer Lisa G., blanketing her bagel with white sugar.

"The one-dimensional cute image implies that we're not capable of thinking about things," adds Lisa Marr, Cub's lead singer and bassist.

"People seem to think that the songs are always happy, or by extension that we're always happy. They must not be listening to what we're singing," says Marr.

"People often don't get the camp or the sarcasm. But we'd like to be perceived with an open mind. Some of our stuff is pretty serious. It's not all one big rollicking joke for us."

Cub met at UBC's campus radio station. When they started doing live shows, they were still learning to play their instruments. No one was more surprised than they were when their first single, Go Fish, became a huge hit on college radio charts.

But two albums (Betti-Cola and Come Out Come Out), five videos and 11 tours later, they'd like a little respect.

"What bugs me is people still say things like, `Cub can't play.' Of course we can play. What do people think we've been doing for three years?" says Lisa G.

A recent live show at Toronto's Horseshoe Tavern revealed just how much Cub has progressed.

Looking every bit the murderous debutante in her floor-length multi-hued ballgown, Marr sang fiercer than ever. As the band launched into a tight, thrashy cover of Motorhead, its Nancy Sinatra days became a faint memory.

"The music changed as our playing evolved. Once you learn how to play a C, a D and a G, you want to experiment. But we didn't say `OK, let's try to sound harder no,'" says Marr.

Cub plans to complete a third CD by springtime for its independent record label, Vancouver's Mint. Staying with a smaller label allows them to participate in every aspect of the music, from cover art to song production.

"It's also important that the label is local. Everybody knows each other. It's a family atmosphere," says Marr.

Cub has finished playing its eastern tour and is working its way across the United States with another hot Vancouver indie act, Pluto.

Back home, Cub will go back to mailing out packages to its fan club, which boasts 450 members. The package includes a newslatter, posters, stickers, toys and candy.

Toys and candy?

"Well, maybe next time we'll send out nasty things like rusty nails and rat pelts," says Marr.

Article: Cub Comes Out (September 1995)

cub comes out

printed w/o permission from Campus Canada magazine, September/October 1995

Cute. Cuddly. Irascible. And a little bit feisty. Words to describe ... what? A lion cub? How about cub? The power pop trio from Vancouver has been garnering national and international attention -- just in time for the release of the group's second CD on Mint Records, the playfully titledcome out, come out. Cub is made up of Lisa Marr (lead singer/songwriter and bassist), Robynn Iwata (guitar) and Lisa G (drums).

While all members are of the female persuasion, cub is not so much Riot Grrrl as Grrrl next door. Lyrically, several songs could be filed under, Why Do Bad Things Happen to Nice People? ("I found a diamond in my bed/That means death, or so they said ... Lucky seven, daisy chain/my wedding ring went down the drain.")

Known for energetic live shows and ... um ... simplicitywhen it comes to musicianship, cub is a testament to the indie spirit that is the self-taught school of rock 'n' roll.

"We're serious to the point of putting in as much effort as we can," says Lisa G. on the phone from Vancouver. "But, it's about having fun and meeting people -- and making good music, of course. I'm proud of the new CD, but I wouldn't say we're out to solve the world's problems."

Perhaps not, but cub's approach to music seems to be working. During their last tour, many cub fans showed up at a record store -- in Las Vegas. "They knew all the words to our songs," says G. "That totally freaked us out."

G is currently living out every music fan's dream. Only a couple of years ago, she was just a cub fan. "By fluke, I made friends with Lisa Marr through a fanzine called Self-Esteem Queen -- there are only two issues out -- and she was talking about how they needed a tour drummer. And all that time I'd had this little wet dream about playing with them." G had never played in a band before then, but "I had bought a guitar once, then a drum kit. The key thing for cub was that I was available."

Since going on tour, cub has garnered a good deal of recognition across the country. Campus gigs are the mainstays of the tour.

"At campus shows, a lot of young people -- particularly women -- come up to us afterwards and say, 'I never thought I could play an instrument, but watching you guys play really inspires me,'" says G. "That's the best compliment for me, because I tried to learn to play for years but was constantly told, 'No, you don't have the skill, you'll never learn to play.'"

Article: Venus In Fur (November 16, 1995, Metro Vancouver)

Venus In Fur
Vancouver's indie pop-punk Cub chafes at cute label
By Todd S. Inoue 


In the 70's, former Partridge David Cassidy was so desperate to shake his clean-cut image that he posed naked, pubic hair peeking up into the frame, on the cover of Rolling Stone. The '90s indie-pop equivalent, shockwise, took place when Cub, a squeaky-clean pop-punk band from Vancouver, retaliated against an insulting fan at a concert in Houston.

"Someone in the back started shouting," explains bassist and lead vocalist Lisa Marr. "You know, 'Show us your tits,' 'you suck,' 'get off the stage,' blah, blah, blah. And he's hiding in the crowd so he can yell the stuff and not deal with us."

Not to be played like suckers, after the show, then-drummer Neko confronted the loudmouth, who called her a "whore." Neko responded with a roundhouse right. The story circulated wildly on the Internet. One small punch for a man, one giant skull crack for Cub's spotless image. 

Cub has a reputation for being a "cute girl band," a label that Marr, drummer Lisa G. and guitarist Robynn Iwata want to deconstruct. The Houston incident wasn't the first time they've been abused. They just reacted as they normally would. What surprised Marr was the outrage by some fans. 

"It became this weird media ploy," Marr says. "People were saying it was concocted, like we have a Hollywood studio system with publicists cranking out falsehoods for our image. It did surprise people, because, number one, girls aren't supposed to hit people, and number two, especially not Cub."

Cub's on the Web--well, almost! They have a tentative Official Home Page, but it's currently under construction. The Webmaster promises to put up a biography, pictures, sound clips, and other fun stuff. Check back soon! 

 When not brawling with the paying customers, Cub spreads its musical message of love through spry, minimalist punk pop with a sweet melody layered over the din. Following the examples set by the Ramones and Tiger Trap, Cub rocks lo-fi style--three-chord bliss with distortion-addled stomp boxes thrown into the mix. 

Cub can spin off cool pop songs in less than three minutes, something that bands like Smashing Pumpkins can't do in eight. On Betti-Cola (Mint Records), the band's compilation of old and new tracks, the minimalist singles-going-steady approach showcases Marr's warm, campfire-cozy voice and the band's jelly-bean jam. 

The 1995 release Come Out Come Out (Mint) reveals a steady maturity, ditching the goofier topics for traditional pop aesthetics. The latest split-CD with the Potatomen, The Day I Said Goodbye (Lookout! Records), finds the trio wrapped tight in traditional punk-pop wool with a black-dye job. "The stuff we're doing now is getting a little bit harder," Marr says. "It's more blatantly [saying], 'This is not a happy song, okay?' "

The band got its start in 1992 at a University of British Columbia college-radio station where Marr met Iwata. The two hooked up with a longtime friend, drummer Valeria Fellini. Valeria couldn't tour because she ran a candy store, so the band picked up Lisa G., an art-gallery proprietor and fanzine editor. 

The trio played basements around the Vancouver area, releasing numerous 7-inch singles and appearing on compilations in Canada and abroad. The band has garnered a rabid fan base and is currently on its 11th tour, sharing dates with The Queers and the Potatomen. (The tour comes to San Francisco's Trocadero Transfer on Nov. 21.) 

Cub fans are as dedicated as the ones who inhabit Wrigley Field. At a recent Slim's show with the Muffs and Queers, the fan quotient was Cub heavy. Lunchbox-carrying mopes swung their barrettes and pony tails, as if paying homage to the high priestesses of lo-fi pop. Fans don't just like Cub, they love Cub, worship Cub, be Cub. 

As a result, Cub gets a lot of mail. "I was joking a month ago that we've yet to receive our first letter from prison," Marr says, "and sure enough, a week later, one showed up. He's written us two letters. He likes U2 and Cub, and is in jail for killing someone with a baseball bat." 

Being held up as icons of cuteness leaves Cub in a quandary. The band has been heralded as the leaders of the emerging indie-pop subgenre called "cuddlecore," a style of jangly pop infused with idyllic, sometimes childish images--think Shonen Knife and Pest. 

True, Cub has played into that cuddly image, singing songs about parties and picnics, and even getting Archie comics kingpin Dan DeCarlo to do the cover art on Betti-Cola. The band's publicity photo shows the trio lounging in a bubble-filled tub. Ain't that cute? 

But Marr doesn't want Cub to go out like Shonen Knife, a band she perceives as cartoonish and one-dimensional. "I consider it entertainment," Marr says. "I'm not opening up my heart to everyone on stage, and it's not necessarily autobiographical. People think you are that person on stage, and that everything you write is true." 

Unfortunately, the "cute" factor isn't going away. In fact, when Marr uses the word, you can see the quotation marks dangling in midair. "That's something that's evolved over the course of the band," she says. "It'd seem like no matter what we'd say in interviews or what the music was saying, people were reading it on this very basic level: 'three cute girls.' Some people even thought we were still in high school." The band members are actually all in their late 20s. 

"I've had some trouble," Marr continues, "with people who come up to me and say, 'You're smoking?!' Or we'll run into people, and they'll say, 'Hi, Cub'--like we don't have names, like we're this thing that pumps out music and is always in a good mood, and all we eat is candy and run around singing all the time. Myths seem to self-perpetuate and soon you're pigeonholed and so many people are thinking you're one way." 

Cub is quickly sprouting claws to slice through the cute shrink wrap. The songs on the The Day I Said Goodbye are harder and faster. There's a techno remix of one of their earlier songs, "Go Fish," on Come Out Come Out, and the trio poses with Fugazi's legendary straight-edger Ian MacKaye inside the CD jacket.

"I think it surprises a lot of people," Marr says, "because it's not what they're expecting, which is my favorite thing to do--to come out and change expectations. People should think how they were three years ago and ask themselves if they'd want to be the same person. If you do, there's nothing I can help you with; if you don't, you can understand what we're going through." 

Marr believes that Cub sets an example for the Do It Youself movement in indie rock. Anyone can do this; just get together with some of your friends, strap on, plug in, and rock out. "It's always going to be a mystery," Marr says, of Cub's appeal. 

"It's more of us getting out there and having fun," she adds, "not being into the rock-star trip, not putting ourselves in a weird space or on a pedestal, and encouraging people to get involved. We meet a lot of people who say, 'I saw you play and now I have my own band.' I think we inspire that in people." 

And with all the pressure and expectations of being in a band, "cute" or not, it's still cool being Cub.

"Despite being tired or having a bad show, something going wrong, or being away from home all that time," Marr says, "each and every one of us sits back and says, 'I can't believe I'm doing this.' Just to record songs we've written, make videos, and travel around and meet people, it's an amazing way to live your life."

From the Nov. 16-Nov. 22, 1995 issue of Metro, Copyright © 1995 Metro Publishing and Virtual Valley, Inc.

Taken from http://www.metroactive.com/papers/metro/11.16.95/cub-9546.html. Copyright the original publisher.