So I’ve been riding on Rosy’s fancy musician coat-tails lately （Yes, the ROSY as in Rosyland!) — sneaking into all these big-banana music events in Toronto, thanks to the Glenn Gould Foundation’s “Celebration of Music Week.”
There were clever humans everywhere — professors, producers, pianists with coffee breath — talking about the future of music, art, and civilization (no big deal).

But the one thing that totally short-circuited my little chimp brain wasn’t a shiny grand piano or a ten-page theory on…

Hello, banana lovers and gentle-primates 🍌🎩

Welcome back to my “Music Journalism” series — where I, Marcel Du Chimp, bring you the latest news in the form of a song! Today I report from the border between jazz, physics, and bananas. Because honestly, music and science are both about the same thing: listening closely to the invisible.

This week, the Nobel Prize in Physics just went to John Clarke, Michel Devoret, and John Martinis, a trio who managed to prove that even the macro-world can behave like a quantum…

Hello hooman friends and fellow lunar snackers! 🐵✨
It’s me again — your friendly neighborhood jazz chimp, Marcel Du Chimp — reporting live from under the fattest, roundest, most delicious-looking moon of the year.

Ah yes, the Mid-Autumn Festival — a night when the moon inspires a dessert, that can also double as a container of secret messages in case you wanted to start a revolution:

🥮 Secret Messages in Pastry

Long, long ago (before Wi-Fi, TikTok, or bubble tea), clever revolutionaries in China came up with a…

Who needs a hundred monkeys on typewriters when one little chimp at a piano will do? 🎹🐒
Here I am — Marcel Du Chimp — pounding out some blues chords with my furry fingers, side-eyeing the shadow-puppet show flickering on your screens.

You call it social media.
I call it the modern Plato’s Cave.
Pixel shadows on a cave wall, characters playing heroes and villains, and we sit there munching popcorn (or plantain chips) like it’s a series on Netflix. 🍿

But me? I’m no cave dweller. I’m a jungle chimp with a keyboard…

October 1, 2025

It’s a sad day for chimps and humans who like chimps. Even bananas feel a little heavy now... The great Jane Goodall has left us, and the jungle of this world feels quieter.

I was lucky enough to be in the audience when she last came through Toronto — October 12, 2023, at Meridian Hall. I remember sitting there, a chimp in a sea of humans, listening to her speak about Gombe, about the bonds between chimps and people, about hope when the forest feels fragile. And I felt something rare: the…

Ladies, gents, and fellow rhythm-seeking primates,

Good news: The treehouse just got an upstairs lounge!

Yes, I’ve opened a new corner of the internet: my very own Substack. It’s a place where I can stretch out, pour a glass of metaphor, and let the music of words spill across the page without worrying about whether the bananas are ripe enough for Instagram.

Why Substack? Because sometimes a chimp needs more than a branch to swing from—he needs a stage to tell stories, share songs, and invite friends into the…

Ooo-oo-aa-aa! Gather round, banana bandits, I gotta tell you this one.

So, I upload a new track on SoundCloud, just minding my own fur. Next thing I know — POW! — I get an email from an “Executive Vice President” of a record label. EVP, big boss, king of the jungle… except the guy’s swinging in on a vine from Gmail. Gmail!

Like Tarzan trying to rent a Ferrari with coconuts. Like King Kong ordering DoorDash with banana peels. I nearly spit out my plantain smoothie.

He says: “We use a private app, not public…

This summer, I was taken to a secret campsite deep in the California woods.
Where exactly? … Well, I can’t tell you. Who was there? … Also a secret.
Why all the mystery? Let’s just say that “what happens at the meadow stays at the meadow.”

Imagine this: days without screens, nights under galaxies so bright you could swear someone photoshopped the stars. The air smelled of pine and campfire, conversations stretched past midnight, and somewhere between the second pot of coffee and the third mosquito bite—I…

Bananas. That’s what I thought when I saw the news. A statue appeared on the National Mall in Washington, D.C. Not Lincoln, not Washington, not even Elvis… but a bronze tableau of two billionaires, hand in hand, grinning like they just won the last pair of discount sneakers at Macy’s. And then—poof!—it was gone the very next day.

The anonymous tricksters behind it call themselves Secret Handshake. Perfect name. Because the whole thing was a secret handshake—between power, money, and the absurd. It looked…

Oo-oo… it’s hard to find the beat today. 🥁🐵

My space-friends Captain Kerk & Troy beamed down a track called Freedom of Speech on 9/11—a date already heavy with sorrow, fear, and memories that never fade. This year, the day bled again with more violence from a terrible public assassination the day before. And instead of silence, they made something… as a record, a journal, a reflection on their observations of the human peoples from way up there in orbit. And of course I took the gig for the banana smoothies…