(weewerk) 8th Anniversary Showcase (feat. United Steel Workers of Montreal / Elliott Brood / Great Lake Swimmers / Canteen Knockout)
The Silver Dollar. Friday, December 3, 2010.
You don't need to be hitting one of the round numbers to order up a shindig, as local roots-ish label weewerk demonstrated on taking over the Silver Dollar for two nights of shows with current and past bands. I didn't make it out for the Thursday night opener (which featured a lineup including The Burning Hell, Fembots, Jenny Omnichord, Two Minute Miracles, Proof Of Ghosts and The Barmitzvah Brothers) but I was keen on the Friday night showcase. It being a Friday night, though, I managed to miss early acts Barzin and The Village Meat, due to joining K. for some pre-gig refreshments.
In fact, we staggered in to a fairly full room to find Canteen Knockout already on stage, belting out some proper roadhouse country music. My first impression was that if Gram Parsons' Live from Northern Quebec was an actual album, it might sound something like this — a notion that the band duly confirmed as they broke into "Cash on the Barrelhead". There were a fair few other covers in the setlist, including an impressive "Pretty Polly", but also some likeable originals, including "Navajo Steel" (the title cut of their first full-length from '06). Extra marks for pedal steel player Alex Maxymiw, whose tasty licks added some zing. I wasn't familiar with the band coming in, but this the sort of high-energy hoedown that I could get behind quickly.
Up next, Great Lake Swimmers took the stage with a pared-down lineup, perhaps befitting the notion of a stripped-down "showcase" set. There were also some different backing musicians in tow than I'd seen before, including Joel Schwartz (guit) and Bret Higgins (stand-up bass). They were joined by stand-bys Greg Milson (drums) and Julie Fader (backing vox). K. noted the absence of Erik Arnesen, meaning there was no banjo for the banjo-enthusiasts in the crowd, as well as some slightly sad faces among the contingent who consider him to be even more dreamy than frontman Tony Dekker. Dekker, amongst the most prominent of weewerk "graduates", was as humble as always, expressing pride at being here to help celebrate the label.
Though obviously beloved by many in the crowd, the band had to contend with being considerably less shitkicking than the acts surrounding them and there were tensions between those out for a hootin' good time and those trying to soak in Dekker's warm songs — at the start of "Moving Pictures Silent Films" a few women up at the front started shushing everyone, to little effect. So that's going to cut into the enjoyment of anyone looking for folky quietude. As such, when the band cranked it up for "She Comes to Me in Dreams" toward the end of the set, it worked better here.
And as shorter set, it wasn't as adventurously far-reaching song-wise, but it satisfied the cravings — and I was glad to have seen it as Dekker announced that this would be the band's last show "for a while".1 Giving thanks (as many others did on the night) to weewerk's founder Paul Klygo — "the hardest working man in indie rock," said Dekker — the band closed with "I Am Part of a Large Family".
The headlining timeslot was originally announced as a "special guest" but I doubt anyone with much knowledge of the label was too surprised that it turned out to be Elliott Brood, another band whose first release had come out on weewerk. Taking the stage looking much more casually dressed-down than usual, the trio jumped in with "Johnny Rooke" from Ambassador, their first full-length from '05, and the floor in front of the stage was quickly surging with excitement.
Now, this is a band I like, but don't go to see so much these days — not in the least owing to the frat-boy heavy crowd they've been adopted by. And indeed, it didn't take long for a cohort of well-refreshed dudes to start pushing their way up front, obliviously referring to each other as "bruhth" — as in the first syllable of brother. One guy, shoving past me with a pitcher in hand turned back to yell, "Bruhth! Get over here, bruhth!" To these guys — to whom two syllable words are a challenge, I guess — the band is simply The Brood, or, perhaps more of an all caps, exclamation-ed THE BROOD! And of course there was one of them shouting for "Oh, Alberta" after every song, even after vocalist Mark Sasso said they weren't playing it. What was that about it not being the band I hate?
For those not out to spill beer/stomp on people's toes, there was plenty good stuff on stage — the band did manage to preview some new material, including "Northern Air", which looks to be coming out soon on a single. And in weewerk tribute mode, they threw in the rockin' "Only at Home" from their debut Tin Type EP. It turned out to be a too-quick set, just six songs in a half hour. Half of those were new ones, which was cool for me (though not for the guy wanting "Oh, Alberta") but I could have stood for few more overall. Still, good to catch up with 'em.
Listen to a song from this set here.
After THE BROOD!, the place cleared out rather considerably. Those that were left on site maintained the aggregate level of rowdiness, though. Which is probably a befitting audience for United Steel Workers of Montreal, purveyors of a hard-driving roots sound — call it bluegrass/punk with traces of hot music. With a half-dozen members on stage and so much clatter and rhythm, it wasn't til I was I looked more closely that I realized the band has no drummer. But between the stompin' and clappin' and the band's rip-roaring style, it didn't seem like a lacking.
There was a rotating approach to lead vocals, though Gern f.'s gravelly rumble was the most grabbing, working well with Felicity Hamer's slightly-smoother tones. And besides a hell-raisin' ruckus, the band was also capable of a more heartfelt sound, whether in an aching ballad like "Emile Bertrand" or the politick-shit-kicking "Union Man". The small-town ballad "Number Four" — complete with an introduction from Gern that made it simultaneously more mythic, gothic and personal — was probably the best thing in this set. And otherwise, the songs bounced between relating the wages of sin ("Glen Jones") and the glory of redemption ("Jesus We Sweat") before closing with the lurching slow-dance of "My Cat Smells Like Place St. Henri".
I'd seen the band a few years back at a late-night music-festival timeslot, and they didn't do anything for me back then. I was willing to think that might be down to me having been drained and so on, so tried I came to this with a beginner's mind. But that said, my reaction was about the same. There's no doubt that USWM are spirited and entertaining enough that I mostly enjoyed the set, but I wouldn't imagine myself going out of my way to catch them again.
Listen to a track from this set here.
That made for a late ending to the night — an icy cold one that felt even moreso after emerging from the sweaty cauldron in the Dollar. It was also a memorable night because of [incident redacted], which would have worked well as the topic of either a rough-house holler or lamentin' ballad of the sort you might find on a weewerk release.
1 And, indeed, except for a trip to SXSE and a couple one-offs, it looks like things are still quiet in the GLS camp — hopefully a sign that a new album is in process.
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