NXNE 2011: Friday

NXNE — North by Northeast Festival, Toronto, 2011.

Friday, June 17, 2011. Featuring: Persian Rugs, The Young Things, The Vandelles, New/France, OFF!, Heavy Cream, No Joy

N.B.: I had written some contemporaneous notes about the festival here. This redux version comes with a few additional observations as I have now had time to properly go through my recordings.

8 p.m.: Persian Rugs @ The Silver Dollar Room

"Thanks for coming early. Or loading in, or whatever you're doing." It felt a little jarring to roll into the Silver Dollar so early, with daylight leaking in through the back door out to the smoking area — it's like seeing Joan Rivers without makeup or something like that. And indeed, it was pretty quiet in the room as the band took the stage. Drummer Matt Rubba faced the situation with humour, calling out the band's name and inventing a fictional new hometown for Persian Rugs after almost every song.

The band's amiable, low-key stage presence endears me to them, but really, I broke my informal embargo on seeing bands that I'd seen before more to see how their songs and stagecraft were evolving. The vocals were passed around some, but keyboardist Kaye Hamilton is the best of the band's singers and rightfully had the most leads. But the variety otherwise generally works when deployed correctly: guitarist Ian Jackson has a serviceable range that gave a sleepy edge to "Phone Call From the Lake" and Matt Rubba's plainspoken vox powered "It's What You Think", complete with a suitably fun fakeout ending.

It's easy to underestimate the talent required to pull off unassuming modesty, but Persian Rugs have a fuzzy, jangly line on a very cardigan sort of sound, just like the light blue one Jackson was wearing. Seeing them live felt like time well-spent with some previously undiscovered Sarah Records band.

Listen to a track from this set here.

9 p.m.: The Young Things @ Comfort Zone

After that, ducked downstairs to the much-less daylight-afflicted Comfort Zone to check out The Young Things, a NYC quartet with a scrappy, somewhat-retro garage sound. Showing a bit of "industry" ambition, they had a friend passing out copies of their debut EP ... is the killer, to the crowd while they knocked out the songs from it nearly in order.

There were hints of a Beatles-y melodic sense, and that would come out a couple more times — as would a decent talent at arranging harmonies. That would be tempered by an equal enjoyment for a scuzzier kind of rock, as evidenced by "All My Friends Are Junkies" — although, to be honest, they didn't quite make me believe that claim. That back-alley tendency in their sound was faced head-on with a Strokes cover — which was perhaps a bit too on the nose.

This was all enjoyable enough, though when the band left the retro-y sensibility behind, like on "Talking Too Loud" (or on the warmed-over blues-isms of "It's So Easy For You To Lie") they veered too much toward a safe, homogenized radio-ready pop sound. Obviously, that's no more or less original than the garage-y stuff, but for me it's nowhere near as compelling. My prognosis was that this is a band that needed to get more primitive in order to progress.

10 p.m.: The Vandelles @ Comfort Zone

The Vandelles were also up from the Big Apple, and one could tell that they had that palpable buzz that The Young Things were clearing coveting. All at once, the area in front of the stage was suddenly filled with photographers staking out space.

And I could get what the excitement was about when they started playing, a blast of reverb and "Be My Baby" drumbeats. Leading off with "Way Through You" (which their bandcamp cheekily suggests was "released 06 June 1966"), the band was showcasing some tracks they were getting ready to record (and which have now been released on their Strange Girls Don't Cry album).

No complaints with what they were doing, but I couldn't help comparing the band to Chains of Love, who I'd seen the night before — a comparison that illustrated The Vandelles' limitations. Chains of Love dove more forcefully into the pool of their musical influences and went deeper into their shtick, going full-out in their stage appearance. Here, however, Vandelles vocalist Jason (no last name given) played in sandals and cut-off jeans, though bassist Lulu (also no last name given, and fighting a bad back by playing while braced against a tall chair) looked more the part.

And musically, the band were willing to get a little sloppy and could even hint at some Jesus and Mary Chain velocity, but it felt too much like these were ill-fitting sheets draped over songs that really didn't invest themselves fully in the sensibility they were playing at. The fact that they would more recently be selected to open some touring dates for JAMC implies that maybe they're a better fit with that sound than I was giving them credit for, and as they closed with a trio of songs from their Summer Fling EP I was certainly willing to give them the benefit of the doubt.

Listen to a track from this set here.

11 p.m.: New/France @ El Mocambo

Crossing the street, I went to this on a hunch, finding something interesting in a blurb mentioning that the band featured "ex and present members of local stalwarts Groovy Religion and La Casa Muerte". Besides the notion of a band mixing together musicians from different generations, the Groovy Religion connection intrigued me.

And, indeed, this band would have no less than Groovy Religion's William New on vocals. Perhaps this linkage of players (who didn't immediately look like they all belonged in the same band) arose from the same ethos New has displayed as a founder of Elvis Mondays — an essential community-building role in T.O.'s indie scene stretching from the 80's to today. Guitarist Roy Pike looks to be of the same vintage, but I can't dig up much about him — and he lacks an index entry in Have Not Been The Same.

Regardless, he did an ace job trading corrosive riffs with Bo Frantz (the Casa Muerte connection, making the band's moniker a bit of a play on words on its two founders' last names) in a stereo back-and-forth of bracing minimalism. The sound was tied together by Jenny Charlton's Mo Tucker-ish drums, played standing up with mallets. There were some superb moments here, with that guitar give-and-take and New tersely sing-speaking his lines in a voice somewhere between Art Bergmann and Iggy Pop while staring down the crowd with a thousand-yard stare beaming out from under his wild nest of hair.

New clearly didn't always feel the need to be the focus, and when not singing, he'd sometimes simply wander to the back of the stage, facing away from the crowd, while the guitars duked it out. And while there were a couple points where things were a bit out of sync and the drums skipped a beat, on the whole this was a rewarding moment of no wave-ish menace. "Moment" is key here — although I did get another chance to see this unit, my understanding is that it was not built to last and is no longer active. Bo Frantz has shifted gears to the promising new Das Rad, while William New endures as William New.

I'd posted one track from this set here — but given that it seems like you won't be able to hear these songs anywhere else I've added another one here.

12 a.m.: OFF! @ The Horseshoe

As the New/France set moved along, there was a shifting dynamic in the crowd at the El Mo, with a different cadre of folks building up at the front anticipating a reunion set by Rusty. That wasn't my scene, so I headed out and ducked down Spadina to Queen Street.

I had something more ambitious in mind, and for once I was going to see one of the more-hyped bands at the festival — which meant, of course, that I was dubious that I'd be able to get in. But with a plethora of good bands playing at midnight, I figured I'd be okay in settling for one of my Plan B's — so much so that I was more than mildly surprised when I managed to get into a packed, sweaty 'Shoe just minutes before OFF! took the stage.

Though I don't have an immense background in hardcore, I do like to feel the energy of it every once in a while, and this new group of veterans seemed like a can't-lose proposition. Fronted by Keith Morris — original Black Flag vocalist and founder of the Circle Jerks — the band includes Burning Brides frontman Dimitri Coats on guitar and Rocket From The Crypt/Hot Snakes drummer Mario Rubalcaba. Rounding out the lineup is bassist Steven McDonald (of Redd Kross fame), younger than the others but emerging from the same Californian milieu.

"Stephen and I go back to a place called The Church in Hermosa Beach," Morris told the crowd. "And we hope that we can transport some of you back there tonight." Evoking the golden age of west coast hardcore (right down to the Raymond Pettibon cover art on the albums) is the band's stock-in-trade.

Even with a slim catalogue of songs to their name, the band had no problem filling out their timeslot when Morris' raps and introductions were considered. Highly entertaining (if a little erratic), Morris discoursed on post-9/11 politics with as much direct intensity as he welded in considering what to do with the errant shoe that had been flung onto the stage. The two things, it turned out, didn't have anything to do with each other, though the possibility was discussed. It also provoked some audience interaction:

Dude in crowd: Play a song!

Morris: Dude, what's your hurry? It's fuckin' Friday night. Where ya goin'... mom and dad gonna show up in the SUV?

When they did focus on the music, the band started at the beginning of the first of their EP's with "Black Thoughts", following it with a couple more of its mates (including an excellent "I Don't Belong") before pausing for a break for Morris to offer forth some more discourse. That set the pattern of two-three song rapidfire bursts followed by pauses for Morris to banter. Both parts of the performance — banter and music — were equally entertaining and just standing back in the crowd watching (I didn't need to be near the frothing moshpit) drained me. But still, great fun.

Listen to a couple quick songs from this set here.

1 a.m.: Heavy Cream @ Comfort Zone

Headed back up the street for another band that I'd seen before, mostly because when I'd first seen bouncy Tennessee crew Heavy Cream at CMW they were suffering through a set with terrible sound. I was able to get the impression that this was my kind of thing, but it was hard to really appreciate them. And though they were battling with some issues here as well — as the last band of the night, they were suffering from a drumkit that was coming apart at the seams — this was a much better showing.

It took 'em a couple songs to get warmed up, but the one-two punch of "Watusi" and "I Know This" was quite fun — sorta like a meeting of the minds between Be Your Own Pet and The Ramones. The band was a constant blur of energy, especially from vocalist Jessica, who exhibited classic frontwoman magnetism, bouncing and shimmying without missing a note.

They played a fair number of songs that would later turn up on this year's Super Treatment, which was produced, notably, by Ty Segall with a lot more oomph than their earlier recordings. And even when the songs might have sounded a little silly ("Summer Bummer" was one title here) the band was seriously into it. The set was over in a flash, leaving a most pleasant aftertaste.

Listen to a track from this set here.

2 a.m.: No Joy @ The Silver Dollar Room

And, making the night close out full circle, it was back upstairs to see another "secret guest" that was pretty widely advertised in advance. I was pretty eager to get a chance to see Montréal's No Joy, whose Ghost Blonde album had really impressed me. Live, the four-piece brought a bit more animation to their shoegazey tunes than I was expecting — the title track, which lead off the set, got some more "push" that isn't there on the album from the drummer.

That wouldn't be expressed with much physical animation, mind you — singer/guitarists Jasmine White-Glutz and Laura Lloyd (the co-founders of the band) were shoegazers in the most literal sense, playing doubled over, their long blonde fair almost constantly obscuring their faces. Sort of the Thurston Moore school of guitar playing, just as there was certainly a bit of Sonic Youth in the band's music. They weren't much for banter, coming and leaving the stage without saying a word, preferring to build up segues between songs (on a couple occasions with sampled film dialogue) instead of creating dead time that might encourage audience interaction.

The set was mostly material from the album, though it did closing out with an extended run through The Shangri-Las' "He Cried", the bassline holding steady to anchor a few minutes' guitar noise to close things out. The musicians weren't inclined to acknowledge the audience but the set definitely made a solid impact on me.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Gig: Dum Dum Girls

Dum Dum Girls (Minks / Dirty Beaches)

El Mocambo. Saturday, February 26, 2011.

Out to the El Mo for a Saturday night. It'd fill up later, but was still pretty loosely packed as things were stirring to get going. I'd not done any research into the openers, so I knew nothing about Dirty Beaches at the time. The rest of the crowd seemed to be in the same boat, as there was no palpable burst of excitement as a lone figure took that stage. That would turn out to be Montréal's Alex Hungtai, purveyor of heavily reverbed vocals over top of minimal loop-based tracks, stripped-down two-bar rock'n'roll signifiers.

"One hundred hours! One hundred hours! ONE HUNDRED HOURS!" he shouted, kicking in the loop for "Speedway King", establishing from the get-go that although he was always straight-facedly in character, this stuff was goofy and fun and a little over the top. He was clutching a guitar, and at first I thought it was merely a prop for effect, but he did add a noisy solo over "Sweet 17". His vox whirled up from a croon to a shout, and my initial impression — given that rockabilly/Suicide edge and use of loops — what that I'd met some other city's answer to our own Slim Twig, who has spent some time working a similar patch of ground.

Hungtai was mostly playing tracks from his Badlands album (at this show still being sold at the merch table as a CD-R), but there was some other material, including "Lone Runner", recently released as a 7". He also dedicated a cover of Johnny Cash's "The Folk Singer" to recently-passed Trish Keenan of Broadcast, and tellingly, Hungtai introduced it as "The Singer", in the manner of Nick Cave's re-titling.

Hungtai has a certain magnetism on stage, and from the general indifference at the the outset, he managed to attract a respectable crowd moving up to check him out. There were still a lot of people chatting indifferently away, partially drowning out one of his stronger songs, the quieter "Lord Knows Best", with a piano line that manages to express sadness in a jaunty way. The set — seven songs in twenty-five minutes — closed with the "Be My Baby"-evoking "True Blue" (not a Madonna cover). And wrapping up with a sort of geste juste, after chatting with some friends in the crowd while breaking down his gear, he pulled out a comb and slicked back his hair before leaving the stage.

Live, the spectacle and presence help to cover up the songs' most glaring weakness, which is the sheer repetitive nature of the loops. Listening to all of them in the row, I was ready to kill for a bridge or some other melodic variation. There's something to be said for rigourous minimalism, sure, but there's also a limit to it — this is a problem that's more keenly felt in his recorded work. Still, he's got a swagger and persona and a gift for boiling things down, so it'll be interesting to see how he chooses to expand on this promising template.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Brooklyn six-piece MINKS (who apparently like to rock the all caps look) might appear, to the jaded eye, to be a product of Brooklyn rock band central casting, the stage filled with a dude in a toque, a dude in a fedora, a dude in a hoodie and a woman playing keyboards way off to the side. "Welcome to Canada," said Sean Kilfoyle in a slightly-confused reversal for a band making their first appearance in Toronto.

Fresh off the release of their debut, self-titled full-length on Captured Tracks, the band featured occasional unison vocals, slightly-woozy keybs and a glide-y sensibility, but weren't so noisy that you would call them shoegazers. At a few points (like during "Ophelia") I was getting the tang of an AM-happy co-ed Still Life Still. I got the impression that the band was still trying to work out a sweet spot between hazy drift and pop smarts, and at this point they seemed more capable at getting across a mood than embedding hooks. But given a propensity for short songs — there were three in a row that were about two minutes apiece — nothing overstayed its welcome. The problem, however, was that nothing really lingered in my mind after, either. There's no doubt that the band was generically pleasing, but they are perhaps a bit too generic at this point.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Headliners Dum Dum Girls, on the other hand, have already learned a lot about the power of a visual presentation. But despite their striking appearance — I don't know if there's any way to write about this band without using the word "gams" — and despite having a couple guys to set up their equipment and remaining unseen until they took the stage, the dramatic "reveal" was somewhat spoiled by the fact they still needed to stand in place and tune for a minute before launching into a striking, moody version of the Rolling Stones' "Play With Fire".

Singer/guitarist Kristen Gundred (moving increasingly away from insisting on stage name Dee Dee Dum Dum as the band's profile increases) then took it up a notch with "He Gets Me High", title track of the band's then-just-about-to-be-released EP, with a buzzsaw wah-wah guitar line, and first of a series of songs showing off the band's rawer side. That included the fabulous "Catholicked" (from their debut EP, and one of the band's best songs), cheekily paying tribute to Patti Smith by ripping off her "Jesus died for somebody's sins / but not mine" line, and then rolled along with "I Will Be" and "Bhang Bhang, I'm a Burnout" before taking the foot off the accelerator for the smouldering "Take Care of My Baby". The latter would be one of the pivotal songs on the EP, a slower, more intense composition where Gundred could show off her vibrato — giving people a chance to fall over each other by making Chrissie Hynde comparisons.

"Take Care of My Baby" was so spectacular that it made "Jail La La" — hitherto something like the band's calling card single — sound more like mere juvenilia. Although it is indeed a kicking little bit of work, and live, it came off significantly faster than its recorded version, propelled by drummer Sandy Vu.

There were a couple peeks ahead to what would become second album Only in Dreams with "In My Head" and "Teardrops on My Pillow", and there was also the still-unreleased "Lavender Haze". The main set closed with an extra-Pretender-y version of "Rest of Our Lives" before the band returned to tackle the only remaining unplayed track from the EP: their go-for-gusto cover of The Smiths' "There is a Light That Never Goes Out".

Although the band is eminently watchable, they were pretty static on stage¹ — or, perhaps more exactly, carefully modulated. There was a sense of rigourous professionalism here, and it seemed like even the very rock'n'roll act of taking a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels was performed with an exact sense of the semiotics encoded within it. And as for Gundred's lyrics (filled with signifiers like "baby", "dream" and "bed"), it's not yet clear whether she's deliberately using a limited vocabulary for a particular effect or that she just doesn't have much to say. Still, all the signs of a band on the cusp here, with several glimpses of the step forward that Only in Dreams would later announce. There was no doubt even then that their next show in town would be in a larger venue.

This came out sounding great, so a few selections from this set: check out an older song here, or a couple He Gets Me High-era songs here.

---

¹ The abstract lightshow being projected on the screen behind Gundred also helped add a sense of motion on the stage.

Gig: No Shame & The Singing Lamb Present A Warm & Fuzzy Non-Denominational Holiday Party (Night Two)

No Shame & The Singing Lamb Present A Warm & Fuzzy Non-Denominational Holiday Party (Night Two) (feat. The Magic / Everything All The Time / THOMAS / The Winks)

The El Mocambo. Friday, December 17, 2010.

Besides having well-chosen acts, it generally feels good to go to a No Shame show. As is generally the case, when I showed up for this one, Lauren Schreiber was working the door, issuing warm greetings and collecting canned goods. And also marking hands with a customized stamp reading "W T E M" to celebrate the night's bands. "W", in this case, denoting The Winks, visiting from Montréal. I came in not knowing anything about the band, but I got a notion of what would be coming when I saw the slightly eclectic instrumentation (the band featured cello and mandolin but no guitar) and the arch look (saucy modern-day flappers).

And indeed, as the first song unfurled with skreeling stings against Todd Macdonald's plinking mandolin, the term "dramatic" crossed my mind. Perhaps a little too self-consciously so, even — which might well put it in a certain sort of Montrealish vibe. Parts of the set felt like expository excerpts from a musical rather than pop songs, more based on a shifting multi-part dynamics than singalong hooks. Which is to say, a bit out of my sweet spot.

Fortunately, the artsy sense of pagentry was carried beyond the music, so I was at least entertained by the band's performance. Vocalist/cellist Tyr Jami kept busy, whether leading some co-ordinated on-stage moves or jumping down to prowl the empty area in front of the stage. In fact, a cover of "Waiting For My Man" ended up with both Jami and her co-vocalist slumped over "dead" on the floor. The Ken Kesey-inspired closer "Wakonda" did draw me in, so there was some value here, even if I found most of the music to be only fitfully engaging.

Listen to a track from this set here.

On this night THOMAS was just the titular Thomas Gill, though he brought his band with him in laptop form. Of a set filled with new songs, Gill commented, "they're christmas-y... but they're actually also the kind of songs my band is going to start playing." With that he launched into "Jesus Was Born", with just his spindly voice and nimble guitar, and indeed it fit into the Christian lite-rock vein that he's been veering toward lately. Mid-song, he triggered his laptop, which added a smooth backing track behind him, drums and ethereal synths and the unmistakable voice of Felicity Williams.

After that, he put down his guitar and just sang, giving a karaoke air to the set, but playing some interesting stuff like "The Kingdom". At the very least, it was cool to see something that was very much a work-in-progress, as Gill averred to having knocked out some of the tracks that morning. I had described THOMAS' songs to A. as being like those mellow Jesus songs that you always skip past on Prince albums, and this was proving me dead on.

It was kinda a weird scene, with the increasingly loud crowd yapping while noise from the "Jingle Bell Rock" party bled through the ceiling from the upper room, all gradually creeping their way over the music from the stage. Undeterred, Gill beckoned to non-present bandmates as the laptop played their parts. Giving some hints of where his sound was coming from, he did a cover of "Earth: The Story So Far", from Prefab Sprout's spiritually-inclined Let's Change the World with Music album. And as for where it's headed to, there were more prominent beats on the 'gospel-house' track "When I Thought I Wouldn't Make It".

The crowd was getting thicker and no more interested in what was going on in stage, and Gill remained self-contained and unconcerned. And myself, it's not that I didn't like the music — I've managed to overcome my initial reluctance and become intrigued by what Gill's doing¹ — and not that this wasn't an entertaining/weird scenario, but it did feel like more of a sideshow en route to the heart of the night.

That would be sets by two bands that I had come to lump together in my mind — not just for their music, but also the way I reacted to their 80's revivalist sounds the first time I heard them. For both bands I'd started with an anti-nostalgic suspicion, but eventually succumbed to the groovy fun of it all.

What with vocalist Alanna Stuart's other band blowing up pretty well, there hadn't been much from Everything All The Time lately. Additional seasoning wasn't needed to enhance Stuart's already potent stage magnetism² — her presence simply demands attention. As the band finished getting ready, she invited the crowd to get closer, and unlike the previous acts the area in front of the stage was soon filled in. With the lights now illuminating the spinning disco ball, there was an instant party vibe.

The band offers Video Hits-worthy synth rock anchored by Stuart's fabulous pipes. Like the last time I saw 'em, the band started off with a slow one that took its time to build up, while "Getting Higher" delivered more of an immediate punch. It was a pretty similar setlist to what I'd seen last time, though there was the addition of "New House", a brand new one at the slower end of the band's spectrum making its debut. That was followed by the Whitney Houston-isms of "Telephone Conversation", and then the final blast of "Start.Stop", with Stuart, fully fired up, grabbing a drumstick to smash a cymbal. At set's end, the room was definitely warmer than it had been going in.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Another point of similarity between EATT and The Magic is how many members each band has keeping busy in other projects, making it worthwhile to grab a chance to see 'em playing together when the opportunity arises. Though they'd been around, it'd actually been almost a year since I'd seen The Magic playing. They also eased into their set, with "Never Lock the Door" which starts off slightly morose but builds into an upbeat falsetto rocker, and then chased that with a mid-tempo "newish song".

There was no horn section on this night, just the core five-piece centred around Geordie Gordon (vox/keyb) and his brother Evan (keyb/keyb bass) plus Sylvie Smith (keyb/vox). There might have been a bit of rust on the band's part, and it was only after after "No Sound" that the band (as well as the crowd) started moving, Gordon asking, "did members of the Toronto Dance Academy just join us at the front of the stage?"

There wasn't quite the same energy as I remember from the heights of the last time I'd seen 'em, but not every night can have the electric lurch of a New Years' Eve. And even if Gordon wasn't quite hitting the top notes, it was still good fun. Plus, there were a couple of new-ish songs that I hadn't heard before, including a solid slower one (possibly called "Slipping Away" ). As always, the Smith-led "Call Me Up" was a highlight, after which Gordon commented, "we're finally getting warmed up!"

MIDI problems stopped things for a couple minutes, but the band kept the momentum going with drummer Aaron Curtis and guitarist Jordan Howard driving "5th Business", a rocking good bit of new wave tastiness. That energy carried over to "Mr. Hollywood", meaning that the closing segment definitely made up for the less vigourous first few songs, and keeping The Magic's rep as a party-rockin' good time intact.

Listen to a track from this set here.

---

¹ Given how Gill's countenance ranges somewhere between serenity and bemused detachment, I remain curious as to how much this a musical, as opposed to spiritual enterprise. "This song is total bullshit," he cheerfully commented while introducing the last one, and though its mode of expression was a little cheesy ("When we say 'Merry Christmas', we really mean 'I love you'".) the message is pretty much the same as the other songs.

² It's rather interesting and instructive to see the different, more self-contained, body language that Stuart brings to the stage here as opposed to Bonjay. Still magnetic, but with an icy, internalized edge.

Gig: Fool's Gold

Fool's Gold (The Tony Castles / Young Empires)

El Mocambo. Wednesday, July 21, 2010.

Wednesday night at the El Mo. There were metaphorical tumbleweeds drifting across the floor as I stepped in just before showtime. Not much of an audience for Young Empires, a local trio that I had passingly heard some people being excited about. They turned out to not be so much of my thing, playing a hip-hop-ified sort of mersh electro-dance rock. The trio on stage (guit/laptop, keyb/vox, bass) managed to generate a lot of sound and fury in a seven song, half-hour set, but to me the songs all sounded like something you might hear over the end credits of a summer blockbuster. Of course, that probably means there's an audience for this, even if they have some clunky lyrics ("dancing in the dark/ gonna steal your heart") and combine the worst elements of stiff, lifeless laptop-based dance-pop with yelp-y quote-unquote "indie" vocals.

It was stupid hot in the room. Fans were on to move the air, but to minimal effect. In the empty space in front of the stage, three people head up to dance. The singer dumps a bottle of water on his head and splashes them with the remnants. I move back and find a place to sit. By the end, it was one of those situations where I was sitting there, winding myself up over how poorly this was sitting with me, so do read my remarks with that in mind. Even if I wasn't impressed, the band certainly did some win people over.

As Brooklyn's The Tony Castles get set up, I already felt a bit on their side. Kinda scruffy and road-worn, they look markedly less coiffed and calculated than their predecessors.¹ As it would turn out, I suppose that could be an apt way to consider their sound: no less generic than Young Empires, probably, but closer to something that I dig, and as such a more enjoyable set. I suppose they also shared the fact that they were a trio who played a not-spare sound, with the guitarist doubling up on keys up front, and some drumpads augmenting the drummer's output. There were also some synthloops in the background of the songs.

Musically, there were some "Brooklyn" signifiers here — spiky guitar, yelpy vocals — and it was all vaguely pleasing but nothing special. I liked it more when they slowed down a bit for the 80's soul-chilled "Black Girls in Dresses", with a more relaxed vocal approach stretching up into falsetto. An interesting song that also sort of lost the plot midway through — but definitely showing potential. It was a fairly quick set, lasting just five songs. This passed the time in a more satisfying manner, but didn't leave a hugely strong impression.

Listen to a track from this set here.

That meant that the job of turning this into a memorable night would be left to headliners Fool's Gold. I was admittedly curious to see who would be the audience for this as the band's music cuts across different genres, which sometimes means that instead of gathering one poly-interested crowd, everyone has equal cause to stay away. For Fool's Gold, their genre-mixing isn't just an amalgam of "indie" and "African" — two broad-unto-meaningless descriptors that each include completely divergent kinds of music — so much as a wholehearted embrace of several different African genres. Which is to say that the indie crowd, to whom they're putatively being aimed at, might not dig them for doing more than grafting a hint of African-ness on top of something they recognize — a move that has had some big-time results lately. And at the same time, the world-music crowd (older, more affluent, oft hung-up on "authenticity") doesn't show up for shows like this.²

Anyways, for whatever reason, this was a pretty thinly-attended show. it's unusual at the El Mo to see seats for the taking along the long north wall in the break before the headiner's set, and once the band started, I counted maybe fifty people or so on hand. This didn't seem to matter much to the band. After a big group hug at the side of the stage, they came on and set the tone right away with leadoff track "Ha Dvash", which came in with an extended instrumental groove before the vocals — mostly in Hebrew — kicked in. That would be the template — long songs that could unfurl at length, each of them as much of a forum for co-founding lead guitarist Lewis Pesacov as for vocalist Top. There's a dozen musicians listed in the credits of their fine self-titled album, but the touring configuration was half that size — still a substantial enough force to tackle the music without sounding stripped down.

"Nadine" did get people standing and moving up to the front to groove along, and things were getting stronger from song to song. "Poseidon", climaxing with some tasty guitar work from Pesacov, had a spark to it that I didn't recall from its album incarnation. And the band was working hard to break through to the crowd that was on hand. Imploring the crowd to come closer, Top said, "we didn't come all this way not to see your faces." And after cajoling some folks to move up to the stage, he congratulated himself, "that's what you call Jewish guilt, ladies and gentlemen!"

The band then rewarded the crowd with "Surprise Hotel", their most immediately appealing song, exchanging the darker Ethio-inspired sounds underpinning some of the previous songs with a brightly skipping soukous rhythm, stretching out for over ten minutes. The extended length was all the more impressive in considering that the second half of the song sped up the tempo to the extent that the song was suddenly zooming by. Quite superb.

After that, it was more and more of a dance party. "Night Dancing" was stripped down to the point where for lots of the song it was just bass and drums and everyone else on percussion. Taking that to its logical conclusion, set-closer "The World is All There Is" ended with the band on the floor, all playing percussion save for the saxophone, the crowd gathered around in a circle for a big singalong, woah-oh's punctuated by shouts of "My friends!"

That would be hard to beat. The band returned for an encore that included a (new?) song that was an upbeat highlife-styled number before going out on the slowed-down Ethopian stomp of "Momentary Shelter".

For what had begun as an exploratory side project, Fool's Gold has taken a life of its own and gotten the band a lot of attention and a chance to tour around the world. Top reported towards the end that once the tour was done the band was going to get ready for their second album, so it looks like the band has some sticking power. Maybe next time around there will be a few more people to see them — this band has the potential to mix together some different crowds in what would be a really impressive way.

The band plays some different styles, so you can check out a couple different ones from this set here and here.

---

¹ And yes, I know this is no less a "look" than the most straight-from-the fashion pages thing. I'm not fooled into thinking that it makes a band look "more real" to be in street clothes — it just falls more in line with my own slouchy stance, I guess.

² So who were these people that did show up? It wasn't the usual indie crowd, as I didn't see anyone from my mental file of semi-familiar faces. They certainly weren't drawing from the world music crowd either, which is a shame. So who were all these people? Who were all these dudes in white t-shirts? They looked like their usual environment would be a dance club.

Gig: CMW 2010 (Thursday)

CMW 2010^* (Thursday) (feat. Elk, The Treasures, Leif Vollebekk, We Are The City, Broken Bricks, Hey Marseilles)

Thursday, March 11, 2010.

First full night of CMW, and this time, there would be no getting stuck in lineups — my agenda was to avoid the hot spots, and be prepared to adjust my plans on the fly. Although there were plenty bands that I really like playing in the festival, I was aiming to avoid them, and see as many bands that I'd never seen before — and, where possible, bands from out of town that might not be making their way back through these parts any time soon.

8 P.M.: Elk @ Comfort Zone

Figured I'd start things off at The Silver Dollar, but arriving outside, I noted that the sidewalk sign was listing everything starting on the half-hour. Which made a kind of sense, as the shows in Comfort Zone, right underneath were going on the hour. So, with slight trepidation, I headed down there to pass some time. "Trepidation", because, basically, Comfort Zone is one of those places your mother warned you about. Somewhat notorious as a semi-boozecan den of iniquity, CZ has only recently re-opened after a series of well-publicized busts from the vice squad. Early on, and pretty much empty, however, it didn't seem that bad — high on the dank-o-meter, but not so scary. A low-ceilinged basement space, it had a sort of sprawling layout, with plenty nooks and crannies to lurk in. The largest open area hosted the round-edged stage in front of a funky mural.

Not too much going on, I sat down and waited a few minutes, the rest of the patrons looking to be members of Elk and their friends. With dented metal tables and squat, sturdy chairs under blacklight fluorescents, the whole space had the vibe of a post-apocalyptic roadhouse — if the New York City of movies like The Warriors had a roller rink, this could have been the snack bar off to the side. By now is was about quarter after and with some seeming reluctance, the band took the stage. It's certainly rough for the bands that get stuck on the early fringes of the schedules for these nights, and one could see how they might want to wait a bit to see if a bit more of a crowd'd wander in before they played. As it was, when the St. Catharines four-piece got going, there were only a handful of people on hand to hear their slightly chug-y garage rock. There was an engaging muddiness to it, even if what I head was a bit undistinguished. I was taken with "Sometime Together", the last of the tracks I heard, and it sounded like the band was just getting properly warmed up. The rest of their set held promise, but I decided to stick to my schedule, and move upstairs for the 8:30 slot.

Listen to a track from this set here.

8:30 P.M.: The Treasures @ Silver Dollar

Moved up to The Dollar with enough time to settle in as The Treasures took the stage. Looking the part of the contemporary urban country band, the members were all in plaid — except for drummer Daniel Poskanzer, perhaps missing a memo or something, in a basketball jersey. Harmony vox from all members and Adrian Cook's pedal steel gave this band a classic Cosmic American Music sound to back Michael Poskanzer's songs. Decent songwriting included some nice local touches ("sitting on swings in Christie Pits") and I found this to be quite likable, bringing to mind, say, The Jayhawks at several points. The alt.country (or whatever name the rootsy stuff is going by these days) isn't quite my bag in the way it used to be, but in a musical ecosystem where The Wooden Sky and Great Bloomers are thriving, The Treasures could do well for themselves.

Listen to a track from this set here.

9 P.M.: Leif Vollebekk @ El Mocambo

Walked across the street and over to the El Mo to catch Montréal singer-songwriter Leif Vollebekk. With a well-reviewed album out on the reliable Nevado Records, this is the sort of thing I have some interest in, but not enough to have gone out of my way to have seen under regular circumstances, making it an ideal festival showcase pick. Vollebekk played mostly in the classic singer-songwriter troubadour mode, with acoustic guitar and harmonica, plus a voice capable of rising to an emotive trill. As I'd heard mentioned, there was a strong Dylan-ish influence at play in some of his lyrics ("every story has two sides, it seems like you have ten"). Certainly Vollebekk was not afraid to show devotion to the past — whether in lifting a melody from Lou Reed, or in a couple covers.

"Don't Go to Klaksvik" might be the best example of his straightforward singer-songwriter material, and after that he complicated things a bit by switching to electric guitar and violin — both at the same time, thanks to a looping pedal. It was in this configuration that he did an excellent slowed-down, melancholy take on Neil Young's "Barstool Blues".¹ Winning stuff overall, and it's apparent why Vollebekk has already gained notice over the field of singer-songwriters.

Listen to a track from this set here.

10 P.M.: We Are The City @ El Mocambo

Stuck around to catch We Are The City², a young trio out of Kelowna. With guit, drums and keybs, the band aimed for a fusion of yelpy indie rock and pop-prog bombast. This slightly uneasy marriage, if nothing else, made them sound like they were aspiring to be a spikier version of Queen rather than trotting out dull Coldplay-isms. Or, at least, mostly — a couple songs listed towards a less-engaging ponderousness and too-tricky stop-start groovelessness. I'm willing to write off the less-engaging moments as partially being just not my thing, and partially that these youngsters still show a lot of room to develop their sound.

11 P.M.: Broken Bricks @ The Central

After a bunch of sets clustered close together, moved a bit further afield, heading over to The Central, on Markham Street behind Honest Ed's. To the extent that this was on my radar as a live music venue, I'd thought it was more of a solo acoustic kind of place, and when I made my way into the narrow back room it was apparent that that would be the best use of the space. With a small stage, it was a tight squeeze for four as Broken Bricks were getting ready to play. At the moment listed as a three-piece, it looks as if drummer Steve Foster (of The Miles) was just sitting in with the band, but did a solid job. The band features a pair of lead vocalists in Marlon Chaplin (also guit) and Luke Kuplowsky (also keybs) bringing relatively more snarling and soulful approaches to music borrowing from British R&B combos like The Kinks and The Who, infused with a bit of a punkish edge. Though young, they appeared to have learned that the distance between the two isn't that great — The Sex Pistols didn't cover "Substitute" for nothing — though I wouldn't want to overplay the punk-ish elements here. In any case, the band has a nice sound, some decent songs, and a musical approach that mixes the rough and the sweet in proportions that I dig. The room and sound system didn't do them any great favours, with the guitar sounding a bit on top of everything else. Regardless, this was a solid set and a band worth seeing again.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Midnight: Hey Marseilles @ Clinton's

Made one more westward hop, to the back room of Clinton's. Home to many a dance night and low-key show, I'd never actually been in to this space before, but it seemed to have an agreeably comfortable vibe. There were a fair number of people standing over by the bar, but I made my way past them and found a spot to sit right up at the front.

"We're going to rock you as much as possible with the implements at hand," said Matt Bishop of Seattle's Hey Marseilles on taking the stage. Given that those implements included accordion, violin, cello, trumpet and a marching band drum, that might actually amount to not a lot of rocking. Which is absolutely fine, as HM's stock in trade was more like lively orchestral folk. With that instrumentation and Bishop's somewhat Colin Meloy-ish vox, the obvious point of comparison here is The Decemberists (albeit back when they were more folksy and, um, good). So long as that's something you can waltz to, Hey Marseilles should be a good time.

Making their first foray out East, Bishop tried to engage the crowd, including asking if there was a big rivalry between Toronto and Vancouver, but wasn't getting a lot of response back. There was general appreciation after each song, though — at least from those who were paying attention to the band. Over on the left side of the room, more people were continuing to just stand around and talk.³ For me, it was good stuff, quite lovely to listen to without being too lush. And bonus points to the band for a delightful cover of Daniel Johnston's "True Love Will Find You in The End" — a song that never fails to bring a tear to my eye, old damp towel that I am. Plus the band had a couple top-drawer originals in the mix as well. An enjoyable enough set to end the night on.

Listen to a track from this set here.

---

^* A note on nomenclature: for years both the industry showcase and music festival components were known as Canadian Music Week. But as of 2009, this was deemed to be too simple and straightforward, and the music portion was "rebranded" as Canadian Music Fest, under the aegis of the larger Canadian Music Week. I see no reason to put up with this and will simply refer to everything as CMW — although there was a part of me that also considered using the slightly cumbersome "Canadian Music Fest presented by Canadian Music Week" throughout.

¹ Pulling a couple different influences together, there was also a cover of Dylan's "Mama, You've Been On My Mind" that perhaps owed a bit to Jeff Buckley's arrangement.

² Not to be confused with the similarly-monikered We Are The Take, who were playing CMW on the same night.

³ Mike from For the 'records', who got to this show a couple minutes behind me was taking photos from that side of the room and seemed to have found the chatter to be much more invasive where he was.

Gig: Girls

Girls (Real Estate)

El Mocambo. Tuesday, November 10, 2009.

Another Tuesday night, another trip to the El Mo to check out an out-of-town band riding on some buzz and good press. Like the last time I was in this situation, I was here as a rubbernecking spectator with no strong opinion going in, not having heard any music by either of the bands on the bill. For a show that I decided to attend fairly casually, it turned out to be rather a hot ticket, a sign reading "100% SOLD OUT" at the door.

Not quite looking sold out as I arrived a little bit before openers Real Estate took the stage. Lots of room to grab a spot in front of the stage and check out the Jersey-based four-piece, fronted by Martin Courtney, wearing a cardigan and looking a bit like the guy who got kicked out of the math club for having drugs in his locker. The band featured a melodic two-guitar sound, featuring both swirling textures and ringing chords on top. Although at a few points their sound also might be encapsulated as "we've got a flanger and we're gonna use it", the haze of that — and no shortage of reverb — never overpowered the songs. The music brought to mind the more psychedelic end of the classic Flying Nun bands, as well as some of Real Estate's compatriots on the Woodsist label, who happen to be on a pretty hot streak right now. And keeping things from getting too heavy, the band mixed in a couple surf-y instrumentals¹ that still managed to fit it squarely with the other numbers. I found myself sucked in at the start and rather enraptured by the end — excellent stuff. This is why it's worth showing up for the opening band — despite all the duds and bores, every once in a while, you get to hear something fabulous. Keep your eye out for this lot: with their debut album just out, they already have a follow-up EP on the way. With that much to say, hopefully they'll make it back 'round to these parts sooner rather than later.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Immediately as Real Estate ended, there was a sudden suction-like burst of movement towards the stage, the relative spaciousness in front of quickly filled with the folks who had been arriving while the openers were on. I didn't want to get too squeezed in and let the crowd build up in front of me — obviously the bulk of the people here were more psyched up to see Girls than I was. The project of Christopher Owens — a young man with a tabloid-worthy personal backstory — was here at what might be the hight of his buzz bubble, with significant online plaudits making his debut album (titled, with the same generic consideration given to the band's name, Album) a big deal du moment.

Backed by a basic guit-bass-drums trio and accompanying himself on guitar, the band had a stripped-down sensibility that it applied to some wonderful old rock'n'roll chords borrowed from some of the canon's immortal tunes. Whether this band would be up to putting new wine in these old bottles, though, was no sure thing. Sounding like they had just started playing together (which, it turns out, was the case) the band was tentative and not particularly strong. The musical problems cascaded into a telling lack of stage presence, as at any given moment, all three players up front were usually looking down at their hands, even in the midst of the most straightforward strumming. Owens' frontman presence certainly hasn't yet caught up to his current level of fame, and the spaces between songs were often filled with silence as he tuned his guitar.

The band started off relatively strongly, with "Ghost Mouth" and "Laura" but couldn't really maintain any sort of consistent groove. Let it be noted, mind you, that I was in the minority here — the bulk of the student-y looking crowd were eating this stuff up. "Hellhole Ratrace" came with an insistently ringing guitar part that brought the retro-minded Scots in Glasvegas to mind — but such a comparison also serves to underline the sort of swagger that Girls is without, instead approaching the song with a wounded vulnerability. It then segued into "Morning Light" in as much of a guitar maelstrom as these musicians could muster, a big hit with the crowd.

All told, there was an interesting sort of revivalism in Girls' music playing itself out simultaneously on two tracks: not just the original rock'n'roll/Brill Building/Goffin-King sort of undercarriage, but also simultaneously an 80's Brit vision that looked back on some of those same sources (say, The Cure or Aztec Cameras). "Oh Boy!", a quiet b-side from the album that was played to lead off the encore was fairly winning, but again, just how exciting one might find it is inversely proportional to how many times you've heard that progression before. The real test for Owens will be how much he can transcend musical pastiche and generic lyrical sentiments.

My reaction isn't merely "the emperor has no clothes" — everyone borrows, and Owens is borrowing from some solid sources. He has a decently emotive voice. It's not like there's nothing there. But for my money, it's a bit too much, too soon. Real Estate were the achievers on this night, and it was their CD that I stopped to buy on my way out. Whether Owens gets a fair chance to grow into his talents, however ample they may be, before he's tossed aside for the next dreamy lad with a catchy tune and a backstory remains to be seen.

Listen to a track from this set here.

---

¹ One of which was, despite the title "Atlantic City", not a cover.

Gig: Wavves

Wavves / Ganglians / The Bitters

El Mocambo. Tuesday, September 22, 2009.

Not a gig that I was overpoweringly anticipating, but I had enough curiosity dispersed among the three acts to overcome my Tuesday night get-to-bed wishes. I was hoping that this'd at least be a relatively early night. Alas, the listed nine o'clock start time turned out to mean ten, giving some extra time to kill beforehand as the crowd in the El Mo built up.

With about four times as much stage space to spread out in compared to the last time I'd seen 'em, The Bitters sounded tighter and looked more professional.¹ The band hit the ground running playing three songs in a non-stop burst before having to stop for a tuning break and banter with the healthy-sized crowd, with plenty friends and music-scene peers right up front. The band sounded more rehearsed, and Fogel roamed the stage with a leonine swagger. Once again, I was impressed by the band's old-school rock'n'roll virtues: lean songs, harmonies, snarling guitars. And a sense that the band is having fun — at one point Ben Cook started to make fun of Wavves-man Nathan Williams' baseball cap, and Fogel snatched it off his head to wear during the next song. The tightest set of the night.

Listen to a track from this set here.

If Sacramento's Ganglians had a motto, it might be "more reverb!". I'd picked up their album, out on Woodsist, and was struck by how it had reminded me of their labelmates Woods, both bands purveying a woozy, decentred kind of psychedelia featuring a tremulous, trebly vox and plenty — plenty — reverb. Real turn off your mind, relax and float downstream stuff. I wasn't fully satisfied with the album, but it did leave me with the sense that this band had something going for it. And, indeed, experienced live, the band proved themselves to be an interesting proposition. Although the elements of their sound — esp. those keening, warbling vox — remained constant, the band managed to show a range of ideas that kept things entertaining throughout the half-hour set. Credit the drummer, whose jaunty backbeat did the most from transforming these songs from the folksy meadow rambles on the album to the full-blooded lurches on the stage. It even managed to make me feel mildly woozy and fuzzy-headed — in a rather pleasant way — with the songs getting better as the set progressed,² and I don't think that was just the beer poured into a skipped-supper empty stomach. A strong live showing.

Listen to a track from this set here.

I must confess I came in never having heard anything from Wavves³, knowing Nathan Williams mostly by reputation for the wave of tabloid-y headlines he'd coasted to town on — and, indeed was, on this night, cruising towards. Still wearing a cast from a wrist broken in a skateboarding accident and with a tour-ravaged voice, the youthful singer was showing the effects of fast livin', but still able to put on a show. Playing as a duo, with Williams on guit and vox, accompanied by Zach Hill on pummelling drumage. The latter added most of the show's visual flair, playing with a frenetic, heavy metal intensity, hair flying and sticks a blur. The music was basic rudimentary noisy punk, tho not without some melodic smarts — enough, perhaps, that some of the songs would have stood on their own, without his guit being sheathed in layers of distortion and his vox swathed in reverb — but such was is chosen m.o. Which isn't totally anything to complain about — I do likes me noisy little pop nuggets when they're done well, and Williams had a respectable batting average.

Not bad for a youngster (a fresh-faced 22) still learning his craft. Watching the show, I was thinking some about the weird times of instant hype we live in, and how a guy like this can rise out of obscurity pretty quickly. Would his work be better if he had some more time to refine it in the minors, as it were, before getting called up to the bigs? And the flipside of the coin is the sheer randomness of this sort of hype. The young man is not untalented, sure, but there's no shortage of acts in this city (or in a bunch of other cities, I'd guess) that are at the same level and mining the same vein. Which is to say, if this was a local act that you saw in your local dive, it'd feel kinda cool and special; as an international touring sensation it feels mildly like a backlash-inviting put-on. A matter of perspective, I suppose, and maybe it just exposes me, in this internet age, as a sort of fuddy-duddy with a parochial bent for thinking that, these days, geography matters.

Ah well. It was an okay set, and there were a reasonable number of young folks there who well into it. If this is their gateway into a love affair with noisy little pop nuggets, then ought I complain?⁴ A short-ish, half hour set, plus one song encore and then the night was done. Overall, a decent night, if not revelatory.

Listen to a track from this set here.

---

¹ How professional? "Since the last show, we did a Nike commercial, and then Ben and Jonah won the Polaris award," vocalist Aerin Fogel casually tossed off between songs. In the ensuing collective discussion of how the Polaris is not such a big deal, the words "Nike commercial" were otherwise ignored. Whether this was a true fact or a jape, it's eyebrow-raising, in a way — in the past, a band like this would have said something of this sort to get a rise out a crowd, to act as if they'd sold out. Or, I suppose, to indicate that they had, in fact, sold out. But now, it's just another bit of info, and was received by the audience without comment. This is how the culture has shifted.

² Including one song that borrowed quite liberally from The Clash's "Car Jamming", of all things.

³ Pronounced like waves.

⁴ Though, speaking about the kids and me as an old fuddy-duddy, I was less than impressed with some of the crowd's concert decorum. By the end of the night, the floor was covered with no small amount of broken glass from people having finished their beers and whatnot and just setting them down on the floor for other people to kick about — a potentially dangerous situation when a lot of these same people are semi-moshing around and bouncing off each other. Is it so difficult for people to get that when you buy a drink, you're responsible for the container? If people lack a sense of how their actions impact on others and can't keep up with this minor sort of social obligation, what hope do we have for dealing with some of the big problems that we collectively face? I despair, some times, I tells you.