Seven Questions with The Pink Christ: WAX MANNEQUIN

How did you come to take on the role of President of Indie Rock?
I don't know anything about that. I think that's some shit my enemies made up.

Would you care to share any nagging paranoias, concerns or conspiracy theories?
They have these fees that you can't do anything about. They keep getting bigger. The flood and the bugs.

How many levels of reality do you suspect you function on at any given time? That would be too much and too sad for me to talk about. I get drunk to forget that shit.

Do you think the little girl who ended the bloodshed in Nelson BC could provide vital counsel to Stephen Harper?
I think she could teach him a thing about firing a gun.

Which dead musician would you tame and ride a cantankerous sea turtle to play a gig with from beyond the grave?
My grandfather. He was a strange man that I never met. He was a violin prodigy -- wrote elaborate songs in his shed, but never got to play them for anyone or record them. He wasn't good enough at writing the songs down. He had theories -- like if you put a propellor inside a box, the box would fly. Everyone thought his was crazy and he was.

Is it true, as it has been suggested, that you are the love child of Crispin Glover and Tom Waits, trained by the ghost of Freddy Mercury, and raised by Syd Barret and a clan of telepathic grizzly bears in the woods of northern Ontario?
I didn't know that any of that stuff even happened.

What sort of inspiring situations or people have you encountered during your travels? I'm constantly inspired, humbled and horrified on the road. There is an old guy in thunder bay with like 30 elaborate birdhouses on tall painted polls in his yard. An oil company in New Brunswick has bought out pretty much all of the provinces small and indiependant media sources. A mechanic in Sault Ste Marie spent two hours fixing the broken van that Jenny Omnichord and I were traveling in. He didn't charge us a thing and he gave us oil for the road. This was the morning after we were treated like third class citizens by the deluded owner of the music venue we played at; Hundreds of square kilometers of the BC forests are dead because of a beetle that won't die in the warm winters they've been having. I found a giant seaturtle dead by the side of the road two hours outside of Sudbury when our van died. Then I found a fighting-action ninja turtle figure ten feet away from it. That kept me going. Right now I'm in Newfoundland where they keep feeding me all the booze and pasta I can handle.