GUESS WHO?  This indie frontman has been seen around Toronto, Canada, doing lines off sinks in coffee shop bathrooms and even destroying thousands of dollars worth in restaurant equiptment downtown. We'll call him Cracked Out Crybaby. He's been crying and chainsmoking in town squares. Yipes!


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Tabloid writers have nothing better to do than make up shit about me. It's not cute and it's not funny. The only thing I want people to think about when they think about me is my music. I don't want anything else.

I need help.

I love Sean, if you're reading this, I'm so sorry. I have bipolar disorder. I haven't been taking my medications. Things got out of hand. The phone's ringing nonstop but it's not anyone who really cares--it's all people who just want the story out of me. I paid the place for a new espresso dispenser and even took a picture with the owner. Everything's fine. Everything's okay. I want to explain myself. I didn't mean to be like that. If you would please, please just talk to me... I'm better now. I'm fine. I'm medicated. I'm great...splendid.

I haven't been myself ever since I left this town and never came back. I'm changing though, every day. Getting treatment. Can't go to a rehab. Management says 'No. Option's out. Not a trend anymore. You'll look dated. Where are you? We'll find you.' Going to therapy. I'm better. Well, getting better. Wrote five songs last night. Five. I'm out of my head. No, wait, I'm feeling fine. I haven't been on these pills in months. It's kicking in. Feeling normal again.

MMN So Craig, tell us about your new album.

C Well it's a little bit country, and it's a little bit rock and roll. (He laughs.) Well, no, but maybe. It has kind of a rock-Americana feel to it with a big helping of my early indie influences like Death Cab for Cutie, Neutral Milk Hotel. A big focus on lyrics, all written by me and some written by both me and my bassist. I was also influenced a lot by Counting Crows, especially their albums August and Everything After and To Shiela. (editor's note: To Shiela is not a Counting Crows album.) It's our best yet.

MMN Okay, this is what all of us have been waiting for. What's the name?

C Well...(he laughs.) I can't tell you that. Maybe...

MMN Aw, please?

C All right, fine. It's called This Charade. 

MMN Dark. Different from the debut. I like it. In fact, I think all of us at MMN agree we like it. But Craig, I've gotta run. Thanks for the time and we can't wait to hear your new album.

C No problem, babe.


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I'm on the brink. Tortured. Alone. Been sitting in this hotel room in Toronto too long. Nothing to do. Keep checking my hair in the mirror. Going back to the phone to talk but realizing there's no ongoing conversation. It's over. I'm done. Crushed my sunglasses in my guitar case last night. Overtuned it. I have 6 more back in New York City, and 10 in LA. But I want to stay here. Maybe go back to British Columbia (Haven't been for years and years.) Maybe go back to Vancouver. Everything's reminding me of those old days at Degrassi. Being here is making my head spin. This charade is pathetic. Everyone here has an American accent. No one even says oot anymore. You're pathetic. I can't even remember anyone's names. I hope the reunion has nametags. Maybe I should give it all up. Settle down with a nice Toronto girl and move to Yukon. That could be fun. This could be fun. Room service brought up pancakes and orange juice. The guy who delivered was a fan, obviously in university, asked for my autograph. I punched him in the face. I was angry. My Orange juice has pulp in it. What's wrong with me? What happened? Gave it to him. He left. He told his manager who told whoever runs this place during the day. Realized I was a B-List celebrity. Let it slide. Agent, manager, Tommy, Walt keep calling my cell phone. Asking where I am. Some model I don't even remember fucking left a message, said she was locked in my apartment and she looked through my shit to get a number of a friend who could let her out. She's one of those daddy issue girls. All three girls I've loved have been daddy issue girls. I can't believe that was five fucking years ago.  Said a "big fat walrus mustached guy" came over and let her out. That's Walt, my roadie. Said everyone wants to know where I went. Like they fucking care.