the deplorable death of derek christoff

Desolate Radio | ep3: Bob Lefsetz, Bad Brains and Boneheads

Desolate Radio with Derek Christoff | Every Thursday at SoDesolate.com

Desolate Radio | ep3: Bob Lefsetz, Bad Brains and Boneheads by Desolate Radio on Mixcloud

Produced by Rob ‘Muneshine’ Bakker & Derek Christoff

Desolate Radio with Derek Christoff | Every Thursday at SoDesolate.com

New listener? Catch up on the first two episodes…

ep1: Jerry The Dragon, Scrambled Eggs and Bella Swan | 04|24|2014 

Desolate Radio | ep1: Jerry The Dragon, Scrambled Eggs and Bella Swan by Desolate Radio on Mixcloud

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ep2: I Want Jelly, Javex and Jerry | 05|01|2014

Desolate Radio | ep2: I Want Jelly, Javex and Jerry by Desolate Radio on Mixcloud

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Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Russell and the Lost Treasure by Rob Scotton

Episode 3. [04|29|2014]
Russell and the Lost Treasure by Rob Scotton
Click PLAY!!

Buy Russell and the Lost Treasure…
Canada: Indigo | Amazon
US: Amazon

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Every Tuesday on DerekChristoff.com

produced by Rob ‘Muneshine’ Bakker & Derek Christoff.
recorded by Tim ‘Timbuktu’ Wallace @ FUN. Toronto, Canada.
Orville Knoblich illustrated by Steven Alphonse.

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Every Tuesday on DerekChristoff.com

DerekChristoff.com
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Click HERE and check out last weeks Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Edwurd Fudwupper Fibbed Big by Berkeley Breathed

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Edwurd Fudwupper Fibbed Big by Berkeley Breathed

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Episode 2. [04|22|2014]
Edwurd Fudwupper Fibbed Big by Berkeley Breathed
Click PLAY!!

Buy Edwurd Fudwupper Fibbed Big…
Canada: Indigo | Amazon
US: Amazon

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Every Tuesday on DerekChristoff.com

produced by Rob ‘Muneshine’ Bakker & Derek Christoff.
recorded by Tim ‘Timbuktu’ Wallace @ FUN. Toronto, Canada.
Orville Knoblich illustrated by Steven Alphonse.

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Every Tuesday on DerekChristoff.com

DerekChristoff.com
Twitter | Instagram: @derekchristoff
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Click HERE and check out last weeks Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | 50 Below Zero by Robert Munsch!

The Come Up Show, 7 Years and Broken Promises

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This weekend, my good pal Chedo, and his London-based The Come Up Show, turns 7 years old. To celebrate, Chedo and his posse are throwing a birthday party|live show, tomorrow [sundayapril20] night at Hideaway Records & Bar [545.5 Richmond Street]. Tickets are $10. I’m performing, along with A-Fos & The Rude Youth, Haviah Mighty and Treetop. It’s going to be an amazing night. If you live in London, ON or are in a surrounding area, I highly suggest you attend this event. There’s rumors of an ice cream cake. That’s enough for me!

I’m proud to be part of this event, as Chedo and The Come Up Show have been major supporters of mine since the release of The BOOK. Let’s all take a trip down memory lane and check out my high and low moments with Chedo and The Come Up Show.

This, I believe, was my first apprearance on The Come Up Show. I’m much thinner than I am now.

In this interview, suffering from a major identity crisis, I announce that I’m changing my name. It didn’t stick, thankfully. My nose is red as fuck!

I have a cold sore in this interview. My pals join me and the result is pure magic!

My last appearance was a sad one. I just stepped off stage [jonestown3releaseparty], was very sweaty and in a bad mood. I announced I was calling it a day. Another announcement I didn’t stick with. I’m a very emotional person, and quit music every 3 weeks. This interview got a lot of people talking. Even a few of my collaborators at the time. The last ‘commenter’ called me and Muneshine ‘miserable pricks.’ Shit talkers on YouTube are special people. Sad, sad losers.

I’m hoping that last video wont be my last and we can pick the pace up!

Let’s all wish Chedo and The Come Up Show a Happy Birthday!
Visit their site HERE! then follow them on TWITTER!

Here’s to another 7 years of The Come Up Show. Then another 7. Then maybe another 7.
Kisses
Derek

ps. TCUS and DJ Doubledown put together a mixtape, celebrating their birthday and party. Check that sheeit out here…

DerekChristoff.com
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Click HERE to check out my last post | Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich|50 Below Zero by Robert Munsch

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | 50 Below Zero by Robert Munsch

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Episode 1. [04|17|2014]
50 Below Zero by Robert Munsch
Click PLAY!!

Buy 50 Below Zero…
Canada: Indigo | Amazon
US: Amazon

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Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Every Tuesday on DerekChristoff.com

Growing up in Macedonia, there wasn’t really much time to read or be read to. When I wasn’t milking cows with Aunt Glosta, I was planting vegetables with Anty Kreesto. When I wasn’t churning butter with Uncle Tatos, I was herding sheep with Uncle Fornker. There was always something that needed to be done on the farm.

I was given my first book on my 7th birthday. My first book was my first present. A day off work is Macedonia’s only gift, and a day off is one less ruby in your cigar box. “An empty cigar box is an empty soul,” said Horna Mastov, Macedonia’s then-president. For our souls sake, we never took days off.

We couldn’t afford wrapping paper, so my grandfather wrapped the book in cabbage leaves. He had to unwrap it for me, as I was too exhausted from spending the day helping my village drag a half-dead whale, who washed up on shore, to the local butcher shop. I had to rest my muscles. The following day was Wednesday, and every Macedonian knows Wednesday is Horse Wrestling practice, and the Olympics were right around the corner.

My eyes widened as my grandfather peeled back each leaf. The image on the cover of the book was mesmerizing and mysterious. On it stood a caped man, staring between his two handcuffed wrists. The man was Bunna Nuth, a Macedonian-born magician|escape artist who, at the peak of his career, decided to leave the fame and fortune behind to lead a normal life in Canada. My grandfather fed me cabbage as he read from Nuth’s biography.

In 1988, a family of crickets attacked a lantern in our stable, knocking it over and causing a fire that would burn down the entire Christoff farm. With nothing, my family decided to pack up and move to Toronto. My grandfather told me we were relocating to find Bunna Nuth. I couldn’t wait to get to Canada!

The tales of Bunna Nuth ignited a farm-destroying fire inside me that will continue to burn until I’m dragged to that big Macedonian butcher shop in the sky. I dream I can one day inspire my own daughter - through stories and cabbage - the same way my grandfather inspired me. And with the help of my old pal, Orville Knoblich, I hope I can inspire you and your children too!

Enjoy.
Derek Christoff
ps. Please, keep your lanterns away from crickets.

produced by Rob ‘Muneshine’ Bakker & Derek Christoff.
recorded by Tim ‘Timbuktu’ Wallace @ FUN. Toronto, Canada.
Orville Knoblich illustrated by Steven Alphonse.

Sleepy Time with Orville Knoblich | Every Tuesday on DerekChristoff.com

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Click HERE to check out my last post | Ryan Stinson, Rain and The Mayor of Opposite Land

Ryan Stinson, Rain and the Mayor of Opposite Land

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I was never the athletic type, and not being the athletic type was a major disappointment to my father. His favourite photographs of us were of his failed attempts at teaching me how to skate when I was 4 years old. He was a skilled hockey player, and the type of father who dreamed of having an NHL drafted son, but I never made a Walter Gretzky out of him. I was a Macedonian god when it came to Nintendo’s Ice Hockey, but my time spent in front of the television was time not spent practicing my wrist shot in the schoolyard, and to my father that was time wasted.

I was the Captain Chunk amongst my slim pals. They loved playing sports and I hated running. I’d rather quote In Living Color episodes than chase balls. I also loved being with my friends, so I sacrificed a lot of time watching them move. They all decided to sign up for a baseball house league at Smythe Park. I could hit a lob-pitched softball pretty far, so I figured I’d join them, and maybe make my dad proud in the process. I arrived at my first practice and was immediately terrified when I found out the league was fast pitch. Fuck! I wanted to quit, but my mom’s cheque for $80 was already cashed, and I didn’t want to look like a pussy.

I played left field, which I convinced myself was a big deal because Barry Bonds also played the position. In reality, the outfield was where the coaches stuck the fat kids. I was terrible. I was given the nickname “Cheetah”, ironically, of course. Because of my tortoise-like speed, my team assigned Gilbert Rand as designated runner, who never got the opportunity to flex his potential because I never got on base.

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My father came to one game. One fucking game, and of course the one fucking game he attended was the one fucking game I made my most embarrassing error. With the bases loaded, Charlie Sullen hit an easy pop fly to left field - a catch my 8 month old daughter can make – and I wasn’t paying attention. The sounds of laughter, and our center fielder, Nigel Garrett, speeding towards me woke me from my daydream. The ball landed behind me and I didn’t even flinch. It took a few seconds to realize what had happened, and seconds are like dog years in a baseball game. By the time Nigel threw the ball to our catcher, three runs had scored and Charlie stood laughing on third base. I could see my father walking towards our car. Needless to say, we lost the game.

It was an uncomfortable drive home. My dad told me I was lost in my own fantasies. I wasn’t in a park. I was in the Sky Dome, in front of thousands of adoring fans, chanting my name. I was a superstar in my own mind. A legend. The mayor of Opposite Land. He told me I needed to wake up and pay attention to the real world. Pay attention to what’s happening in front of my eyes.

Fuck that.

Ryan Stinson [ft. D-Sisive] | Rain

ps. It’s fitting because it’s raining outside.
pps. I can catch a ball way better than my daughter.

DerekChristoff.com
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Click HERE to check out my last post | The Desolate Collective, Ed Templeton and Cold Sores

The Desolate Collective, Ed Templeton and Cold Sores

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Today is a very important day for me. Today is the day I officially become a mogul. A powerful media mogul in a dress shirt, with political connections that can blacklist you and your entire family. A mogul with $17 in his chequing account and a cold sore on the bottom-left corner of his lip.

Get Richard Branson on the phone!

Since I was a kid, I’ve always gotten cold sores, and have no clue of their origin. I do know they’re NOT from kissing a Jarvis prostitute, like the jokes I’ve been the butt of over the past 15 years insinuate. I’ve gotten cold sores from as far back as the age of 8, and my prostitute addiction didn’t start until I was 22. And everyone knows prostitutes charge extra for kissing, and I ain’t paying dat shit, yo!

I’ve always been extremely embarrassed of my cold sores and pray they don’t visit when my face will be a focus. Live shows, video|photo shoots, the birth of my child, etc. Last Sunday, the gods ignored my prayers. I woke up and felt that tingling that can only be one thing. I was immediately depressed. “It had to be this fucking week,” I screamed at my bathroom mirror. My fiance, Melanie, tried to make me feel better with a “you can barely see it.” You can barely see it because the ship was yet to land. It had to visit during my mogul week. The Desolate Collective launch week. The week of my most important show.

Mel went to her mother’s for the day, and I stayed in bed, feeling sorry for myself. I spent my Sunday pouting between bites of beef patties and watching youtube videos. I came across a documentary on one of my favourite artists|photographers, Ed Templeton. A few minutes into the first part, he talked about not being stoked on being photographed that day, and referred to himself as being in a “real bad face state.” One reason being he had a cold sore. The timing was perfect! That’s what I needed at that exact moment. You never hear anyone in the public eye refer to cold sores. We’ve all seen the Katie Holmes photos, and heard the Moby rumors. We know a lot of people get them, but nobody advertises them. They are fucking gross, so it’s understandable. I’m an open book with my music, but I’ve never once mentioned a cold sore

That one Templeton sentence changed my entire mood. I was able to stop giving a fuck about it. Something I’ve been self conscious about my entire life. Probably the ‘thing’ I’m most embarrassed about, and I have a lot of shit to be embarrassed of. Ed Templeton gets cold sores and he’s a genius and cool as fuck! Fuck the anti-cold sore-ists! They can kiss my…mouth! I was then ready to take on my week like a confident, clear-faced, Macedonian aspiring mogul!

And here I am! In a few hours the doors of The Drake Underground will open, and I’ll celebrate the launch of The Desolate Collective with my family, friends and fans - scabby lip and all! Today, I also launch this blog with a coming of age tale of lip blisters!

Exciting times, indeed!

I have to leave for sound check now, but consider this blog launched! I’ve attempted many times to launch a blog, but have failed. This time I won’t. I can’t. Here, you will find everything me-related. Music, stories, tour dates…everything. Check back daily, or sign up for my newsletter. Send an email to SoDesolate@gmail.com. Tell me something nice and I’ll add your email address to the list. Only ten percent of Facebook likers see what you post, so…fuck social media. At least with a newsletter, the info goes directly to you.

Let me leave you with a few things…

Now Magazine’s Julia Leconte wrote an amazing piece on myself and Desolate. Read it HERE!

One of my favourite music journalists, Stuart Berman, posted tonight’s show in The Grid’s One To Watch column. Read it HERE!

I had the honour of being a guest on The Official Danko Jones Podcast. We talked about two of my favourite things - wrestling and Corey Feldman. Listen here!

Watch the cold sore empowering doc, Ed Templeton|Epicly Later’d HERE!

I also have to thank a lot of people. If it weren’t for them, there would be no D-Sisive|Desolate.

Rob ‘Muneshine’ Bakker, my Desolate partner since the empty Saskatoon show in 99. Melanie Moore, my valentine|baby mama and Desolate merchandiser. Donna Moore, my baby mama’s mama and Desolate merchandiser. Darryl ‘Urbnet’ Rodway, who believed in me from day one and gave me a soapbox to stand on. Brett Lindzen, my Desolate visual wizard. Brett Hurd, my Desolate photo genius. Brenden ‘Techtwelve’ Smith, my Desolate spin doctor who cuts the beats while I rap to 10 people. Adam Bomb, my favourite rapper of all time. Justin ‘Chokeules’ Lepine, coming with the ill Knoblich drawings. Dan Jardine, for the insane One[Desolate] visuals. Chris Hall, my [un]Answered Prayers inspiration and official tattoo guy.

Thank you to everyone I’ve worked with in the past.

Thank you to all cold sore survivors. We all need a hero, and I hope I can be yours.

And most importantly, thanks to all my supporters. Your sharing and kind words are my fuel. It’s about to get mad real. I promise.

Now, for the hundredth time, can someone PLEASE get Richard Branson on the fucking phone?!

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