Gig: Sean Nicholas Savage

Sean Nicholas Savage (Dr. Ew / Army Girls)

!059. Saturday, January 15, 2011.

For a while now, I've had a sort of ambiguous relationship with the less formal venues in this city. Like pretty much everyone, I love the idea of shows-not-at-bars, and in theory I really dig the notion of there being different sorts of places to see bands play. On the other hand, seeing corners cut with what is most assuredly entrepreneurial gusto often sets my internal alarm bells ringing, nanny-state caution monkey that I am.

Also, when I head out to see a band, I'm the sort who likes to pay attention with a certain kind of focus. So if that performance is taking place in the context of what is essentially a giant house party, where not nearly everyone's agenda matches mine... well, I guess you could just call me a party pooper. It might have been those instincts that had hitherto kept me away from !059, a well-known "semi venue", that until recently played host to musical shows and a slew of other artistic endeavours. Located in a residential strip that's almost in the shadow of Casa Loma, it's a little off the beaten track (though hardly remote) and the sort of place you'd just pass by if you didn't know what you were looking for.

Not good at party time, I actually arrived in the relative early going, with just a handful of people lingering in the main area, which had once been a living room with a wall removed to open the space up further. There was no stage so much as a zone at one end of the room against the front window overlooking the street outside, now cluttered with gear. One of the long walls of the rectangular room was taken up by a staircase — there was a coatrack up there, as well as the bathroom and the locked-off rooms belonging to the house's occupants. Not much furniture in the main area, just a couple chairs below the stairway — and opposite that on the other long wall a sort of three-sided wooden step below a bay window. That was the spot I staked out — I figured a little elevation never hurts in trying to see a band play.

And indeed, once the floor started filling in, I was glad to have claimed my little space. By about eleven, it was starting to feel full, with about fifty or sixty people on hand. The crowd included a lot of guys who were comfortable wearing their toques inside, and maybe it was just because it was the dead of winter, but flannel usage looked to be up about 15 per cent.¹

One of the main reasons I wanted to come down for this was to see Army Girls, who were playing first. Although I had seen Carmen Elle and Andy Smith playing together before, that was before they'd even settled on a name. Now, they were more focused on Carmen Elle's new songs (with the last vestiges of her earlier "solo" stuff stripped out of the setlist) and were showing more comfort with each other, with an easy and natural interplay that animated their stripped-down but not spare sound. Smith's drums pushed without calling too much attention to themselves, keeping the focus on Carmen Elle's adroit guitar work and fabulous vox. "Always" was pretty kickass, and there were some other top-notch songs like "Here It Comes" that should be showing up on their forthcoming EP.²

The house-party sound was a little rough, and the vocals might have been bumping up against the limits of the PA a little, but in any room Carmen Elle's voice is capable of expressing a yearning that suggests something more complicated than either toughness or yielding surrender. And the pair's basic guit/drums sound works like that too — not quite scrappy, but certainly not soft. Closing with "The Power", the set was only a tantalizing EP-sized six songs — "we don't have any more," was the confession at the set's end as the crowd called for another. There's so much talent on display here that I'm taken aback every time I see this duo — and they're good enough that I've gone out of my way to see them a couple more times since this show.

Listen to a song from this set here.

If the room was comfortably full as that set had started, with the next fifteen or twenty people to show up it started to move to feeling crowded — and there'd be a steady stream of more people arriving all night long. And it was an out-for-a-good time party sort of crowd — definitely not like a temperance meeting. When a burning smell wafted through the room before the next set (over and on top of the pungent smell of weed in the atmosphere) my inner Fire Marshall flinched big time, that familiar voice in my head crying WATCH OUT WATCH OUT as I thought about alternate exit routes. And opposite me, the stairway (which had no banister on its open side away from the wall) was getting filled up with people standing on the steps, making it a perilous passage for anyone headed past them up or down — an accident waiting to happen in a room full of invulnerable-feeling drunks.

Meanwhile, while I mused about safety and doom, wondering how difficult if would be to get out through the window I was standing beside, a quick changeover had Dr. Ew ready to go. The quartet jumped right into the brisk "I'm Not Mad At You Anymore", and from the top this was more rocking than the last time I'd seen Drew Smith (formerly of The Bicycles). This was a different lineup than the previous time I'd seen him with a band, with only Mike Le Riche (guitar, also of The Darcys) holding over. Here, he was joined by the Steamboat-y rhythm section of Matt McLaren (bass and piano) and Jay Anderson (drums). As far as I can tell, this has become Smith's regular group, and it was a fizz-pop sugar rush fully worthy of his songs, bouncing from one two-minute confection to the next. They also brought a tougher edge to songs like "The House Of Many Mansions".

The crowd was getting more boisterous, but to my surprise people paid attention to the quieter "Let's Make It Legitimate". "Did anyone just fall in love?" Smith asked the crowd as they finished. "I love you guys!" one dude drunkenly shouted back. After rocking out a couple more, the set ended on a softer note with "Stay In Place" and "Oh Human History" — "I miscalculated," Smith commented on not having saved a barnburner to close out on. Still, this was fabulous material presented by a top-notch band. As I've said before: Smith's bubblegummy songs and presentation make it easy to underestimate his skill and talent, but there's something seriously good going on here.

Listen to a song from this set here.

Setting up on the extended ledge in front of the window opened up the space on the floor where the bands had been playing, but the still-increasing numbers soon filled that up and the place was feeling quite jammed for Montreal's Sean Nicholas Savage. The last time I had seen Savage had definitely rubbed me the wrong way, maybe just because his ongoing lightning-fast evolution had turned what I had thought was going to be a folkie strummer into a disco crooner. And while I can appreciate his musical progression from The Everly Brothers to The Gibb Brothers, the karaoke-like nature of that performance just didn't work for me.

This time around was somewhat better. Savage was still singing over backing tracks played on a ipod, but somehow the fact that the music was a more stripped-down, basic midi sound rather than instrumental versions of finished album tracks made a difference.³ What can't be denied is how hard Savage is working to be an entertainer — he prowled along the ledge with magnetic energy, and the crowd totally ate it up as he sashayed into "Can’t Get My Mind Off You" (from his then-forthcoming Trippple Midnight Karma). "Disco Dancing" (from the barely-older Mutual Feelings of Respect and Admiration) was treated like a classic, with people singing along, and the crowd up front (including host Henri Faberge and Daniel Moon King Woodhead) slow dancing.

There was a large and enthusiastic crowd up front who were fully into this — though countered by the fact that a few rows back it was more just another background element of the massive houseparty. I can see why people find this fun, and I can see the hard work that Savage is putting into his live performances — I even enjoy his steady stream of fresh music he keeps putting out. But in the end, I have to confess, this kind of live show just doesn't do a lot for me. All the more room for the people who do get it, including all those who rushed up front when, in lieu of an encore, Savage selected "Sexual Healing" on his ipod and semi-lipsynced into an empty wine bottle, dancing and whipping up the crowd into a singalong frenzy.

The end of the "show" part of the night meant that the party proper was just kicking into high gear, but that was enough of a time for me. When I managed to make my way up the Stairs of Peril to retrieve my parka I found that all of the coats that had been hung up had fallen into a giant heap and were buried under layers of coats from more recent arrivals. That meant you had wade into a knee-deep pile, tromping on other people's coats until you could dig out your own, all while trying to dodge the line of people waiting to use the one bathroom. That could be a metaphor for the place as a whole — either that sort of thing is a minor impediment to your fun, or it's enough to make you wonder if this is the sort of fun you want to have.

---

¹ Actual overheard conversation:

Hipster #1: After the show, we're going to take some drugs and go up to the castle.

Hipster #2: [brightly] *I* like doing drugs!

² Entitled Close to the Bone, the disc was recorded by Ben Cook, and is now slated for a September release.

³ It maybe (probably?) shouldn't matter so much at all — but that's a whole other unpacking of my inner rockism that I'm not prepared to get into here.

Gig: Against Life III

Against Life III (feat. Fresh Flesh / Tonka & Puma / Doldrums)

"Dream in High Park" Stage. Friday, September 9, 2010.

Going to this was a last-minute decision. But given that the listed started time was at midnight, even the last-minute didn't come early. After the end of my night's more regular gig, I had some time to kill and consider my options. Not only was it cooling off outside, but I could feel the first vestiges of a cold coming on. Standing outside in the crisp September dead of night in my short pants was probably inadvisable. Plus, I did have some mixed feelings about the last event like this I'd gone to. But still I'd gone to that one, and as the hour grew late here I was heading out to this.

As is usual for these things, the location was revealed only on the day of the show. Showing their flair for finding "off the grid" spots in the city, the organizers this time came up with a familiar landmark — the amphitheatre in High Park most usually populated by summertime Shakespeareans. And so I found myself taking the Queen streetcar out past all of my usual landmarks and treading uphill into the dark, quiet park. I crossed paths with a couple joggers, but I otherwise was feeling the Omega Man vibe, peering suspiciously at the smudges off in the distance here and there.

Despite knowing that punctuality is not a virtue at shows like this, it wasn't long past midnight that I found myself looking for the path down from the road. I remembered it vaguely from previous trips, but it's always another matter entirely when it's pitch dark out. It actually wasn't that hard to find and I headed down to find the entrance gate blocked off with a metal gate and a WORK ZONE sign. Someone had invitingly moved the gate open by a few feet and I headed in. As I came to the top ridge of the tiered amphitheatre, I could see people moving about on stage, getting the generator going and providing a little bit of light.

I found myself a spot and started waiting for things to begin as the cool damp of night started to descend. The steep arcing rows of seats above the stage encouraged people to settle in and spread out, and soon, people were tricking in, calling out for friends and hanging out. The dark stairs leading down toward the stage were soon illuminated by tiki torches.

Things got started right at one, when it was announced to the crowd, "the vibe will be a lot better for everyone if you come on the stage". And right like that, I remembered why I like things like this. Although the sound system and artists were set up right against the far back of the stage, everyone had internalized that that was the place for the musicians and the seats were the place with the crowd. But with the announcement that membrane evaporated and the bulk of the people on hand got up and clamoured onto the stage. It's actually a pretty big space up there, so it didn't feel all that crowded.

And getting closer to the lone light illuminating the PA meant we could now see Toronto-via-Halifax rapper Fresh Flesh (government name: Zoë Solomon), who was leading things off. Her ultra lo-fi beats were on cassettes that were switched in and out of a walkman hooked up to the sound system, an apt backdrop for her rhymes, which featured a flow somewhere between Peaches and Tom Green and a propensity for whimsical subject matter ("mystic crystal power", ham, puke and the assertion that "space diamonds are real"). Some of it rocked the bells pretty well, and the minimal casio/drum machine beats were rather likable.

On the second song, the generator konked out temporarily, underscoring the patched-together nature of the sound system, and adding to the vaguely post-apocalyptic vibe of the whole night. As the air grew colder and it felt like this was one group of survivors — or outcasts — dancing together to keep warm in some remote sanctuary, the closing song with its "can't wait to celebrate nuclear war" refrain fit perfectly.

Listen to a song from this set here.

Between sets, a guy shuffled up beside me, leaned in and asked, "D'you want any MDMA?" I shook my head no and felt vaguely disappointed that I'd wasted all that time memorizing the street names of drugs in an attempt to appear "with it". It looked like the dude might have had some takers, however, as there was an element of the crowd that looked to be out for a Burning Man sort of pagan celebration, complete with hippie twirling dance moves.

And getting ready to play, it looked like a big bottle of wine was the mood-altering substance of choice for Tonka & Puma. Another facet of the always-busy Daps Duo, T&P is a pairing of Hooded Fang's April Aliermo (bass/shouts) and Daniel Lee (drums/vocals) featuring hardcore velocity, extra-sloppy style, all in a whir of April's extra-fuzzy bass and Daniel's howling. As their anthem says: "we're two cool cats with nothin' to do / so give us some booze and we'll kick it for you".

From where I was standing, the vocals were sometimes inaudible and there was an amusingly trainwreckish quality to the minute-long songs — perfect party music for something like this. And helping to shake up the formula a bit, Airick Woodhead of Doldrums joined in to manipulate the sounds and add some messed-up vocals and the sloppy fun of it all actually came into focus for a few minutes. Much more of a soak in the madness-type of set than a hi-fi experience — but you're almost certainly not coming to something like this for the latter.

Check out a couple quick blasts from this set here.

Between sets, the music was mostly weird-rock and out-there mutant sounds from around the world — psychedelic Bollywood, disco drone and stuff like that. The stage was filled with people trying to keep warm with drunken dancing or drunken drinking. There was a lurching quality to people in general, just as there would be to the music as Doldrums got underway.

This would be the third time I saw Airick Woodhead's pop project — and it was rather different from either of my previous tastes. Woodhead, here in one-man-band mode, brought to life a crazy cut-and-paste world, starting with a snatch of sampled movie dialogue, adding all sorts of looped and sliced and treated vocals, all with glitchy beats being manipulated on the fly. One could have an "emperor got no clothes" reaction to this and call it gussied-up noise, but there is an underlying pop sensibility. And if it's a rather fragmented sort of pop sensibility, one gets the idea that comes from the fact that Woodhead's vision is at a slightly divergent angle to ours.

All of that would come across as even more messed-up in this environment, including some random weirdness with the sound cutting out every so often mid-song, all while Woodhead bounced around, including into the crowd, offering the mic around for any yalps the audience would like to throw into the mix.

And then, about quarter after two, less than fifteen minutes into the set, the real game changer of the night as the police dropped by to pause the show in the least-invasive manner imaginable. The two officers came up on stage and walked through the crowd to Woodhead, who kept the music going while carrying on his half of the conversation into his microphone, a woozy slo-jam beat still playing in the background.

"What's the officer, problem? "You're not into it? Whaddya think of this?" The cop actually made a sort of semi-apologetic ambivalent gesture but obviously got his point across that the music had to stop. Weirdly, there was no sense of confrontation ("Does it have to be us and them all the time?" Woodhead asked) as once the music stopped the police just turned around and left. Whether this was post-G20 goodwill or wanting to avoid an incident I wasn't sure — or whether they'd said something to the effect of "just make yourselves scarce".

With the music stopped, everyone stood around for a few minutes, unsure if the show was done or what. I lingered, but with that break my body suddenly remembered that this had started as a work day and I'd been going for quite a while. As some people started straggling out, the organizers weren't making any moves to shut things down, but thinking about the hike yet ahead of me I realized I was done for the night. As I made my way back to the road and was about to make my way toward the Bloor night bus, I heard the sound system come back to life and the music starting up again.¹

Listen to a track from this set here.

If you're a fan of music/drug analogies, Doldrums might be something like acid-laced cough syrup. And in a way, that kinda applies to the vibe of the whole night, which might be one thing imposing a limit on how much I felt I got out of this show. Maybe because I was mildly underdressed for the weather and had a cold coming on I felt less into it, but it felt like a less-successful happening than the last one.

There were definitely some positives here — this felt like the last fling of the summer and I would have felt a little sad to have missed it. And once again, I love the place-making (or "place-taking") element of this, giving a location a new, personal meaning. The next time I'm there, I'll be thinking, "yeah, I stood on that stage". But I also have the lingering feeling that I'm coming at things like this from the wrong way to be able to get into them fully. Is a show like this meant to be more than a debauch? Or is that the thing that each participant is supposed to bring with them? After all, this isn't pre-fab culture, presented to you in a microwave-ready pouch.

Anyway, once the weather warms up again, there will be more events like this. And I suppose I'm not saying that I won't be there.

---

¹ In fact, I heard after the fact that the rest of the night went off without a hitch or further interference.

Gig: Optical Sounds' 2-Year Birthday Party

Optical Sounds' 2-Year Birthday Party (feat. Your 33 Black Angels / The Hoa Hoa's / Postcards)

The House of Everlasting Super Joy. Saturday, July 10, 2010.

After a full day outside for Afrofest, grabbed the subway over to Dundas West, and walked over to Sterling to find the mysterious House of Everlasting Super Joy. A somewhat unusual neighbourhood by T.O standards — call it, I guess, pre-gentrified, with the detritus of industry still near at hand. The spot turned out to be a loft-style space, clearly the domain of a bohemian squadron of musicians and visual artists. The walls were covered with psychedelic paintings, and on top of that, there were blankets hanging on two walls, acting as screens for a particularly excellent installation of General Chaos' swirling lightshow, the projectors stashed on elevated ledges and in position to totally fill the room.

As I arrived at just past midnight there were a good few people standing outside, an "ALCOHOL INSIDE ONLY" sign on the door — some basic measures to keep a BYOB party from overwhelming the neighbours. Inside it was sweatingly hot as I poured myself a hearty snifter of brandy, taking in the surroundings. The party had been set up as a two-parter, with a first trio of bands (The Auras, Vicious Delicious, Planet Creature) going earlier on before a DJ break. But it looked like I was in time to catch the second burst of bands starting after midnight.

There was a pentagram on the floor, and throwing caution to the winds, I positioned myself in the centre of it as Your 33 Black Angels finished their preparations. Bowing to the heat, there was soon a couple shirtless members amongst the multitude on stage¹ — seven members deep (and at that, without their regular bass player). The lineup included a second drum kit, keybs and three guits up front, including main vocalist Josh Westfal. Even with all those hands on deck, the material was well-arranged, with the guitars playing well-defined parts and not just mashing more of more on top.

I'd seen the NYC-based crew playing with the Hoa Hoa's before and knew that they were a good complement to a show like this. Leading off with the self-explanatory "Le Boogie Électrique", the band's material ranged from Byrdsian folk-rock raveups to bursts of Stones-y swagger, but with a fiery intensity throughout that obviates all suggestions of mere revivalism — or, as one song suggests, "I Had a Modern Night". Playing a lot of material from their latest disc Pagan Princess, they stretched things out in a couple spots, like on "I Want Something I Can Hold In My Hand" and closed with a burst of energy in "Blinding Light". I was glad to have caught these guys again, and with what looks to be an increased association with Optical Sounds — the new website says that one of the bands coming soon to OS "rhymes with Your 33 Black Angels"² — I do imagine they'll be heading back up here soon.

Listen to a track from this set here.

By the end of that set, as I looked around me, everyone's faces were starting to look like lumps of playdoh that had been left in a microwave. As the band finished, I ducked outside, where it was about a million degrees cooler and the air less like soup, and managed to cool off a bit along with nearly everyone else from what was a pretty healthy crowd. It hurt a little to have to go back inside, but I'm willing to make certain sacrifices for The Hoa Hoa's.³

Keeping things simple setup-wise, there were no keybs for this one, just guit/bass/drums and the band in party mode, joined by Cameron Ingles on tambourine. Femke Berkout was wearing a tie-died skirt that went well with the lightshow, and there were psychedelic bursts all around as the band led off with an intense, frenzied run through "The List", guitars way up and vocals way down in the mix. (This'd be a problem more of less throughout the set, so while it sounded pretty mindblowing while the band was playing, it sounds a bit muffled on the playback.)

Mixing things up on the older material, Richard Gibson sang "Vinyl Richie" with some sort of effect that made his voice sounde like the 13th Floor Elevators' electric jug. An amp or something failed, with the guitars dropping for for a moment, but the band kept playing through it. There was — yet again! — a brand new song from the band. Richie called out a title for it, but I couldn't quite make it out. This one brought, say, Screamadelica to mind, and there was also the still-pretty-new summer-vibed "Falling". For the always-incendiary finale "Blue Acid Gumball", the band were joined by Don Matsuo of The Zoobombs on extra guitar, giving the song an even more frantic feel than usual.

Needed another sojourn outside after that. The crowd had thinned out a bit — it was past two by now, and a few less bodies squeezed inside made it a bit more tolerable for another out-of-town band of friends to Optical Sounds. Montréal's Postcards have played with The Hoa Hoa's before, but this time, we had a stripped-down version of the band. Not sure if this was just a travel arrangement or a permanent shuffle, but we were left with vocalist Dimitri and guitarist Filip, the latter controlling the icy new wave textures of the backing rhythm tracks that they played to.⁴

Last time 'round, I'd found the band to be fairly minimal anyways — if not slightly too monochromatic — so this setup wasn't actually a huge change in direction. The slight stiffness of the drum tracks actually worked with their sound, although the low-end often sounded a bit distorted through the room's PA, which didn't really fit with their aesthetic. There were also some technical problems — something caused the backing tracks to konk out in the middle of one song, and dealing with that robbed the band of a lot of their momentum. After some fiddling, they re-started the track, but still had trouble getting through it, that one ending up being a mostly instrumental version.

When this setup was able to put the focus on Dimitri's vocals, it worked fairly well, as he sang with an emotive, plaintive tone. In combination with the impersonally blank drum machine beats giving something you could shuffle to, the set was enjoyable enough, but I wouldn't think this was the band at their best.

And after that, heading homeward, pretty exhausted after a day and a night of music. A worthy celebration, though, of the ongoing achievements of one of the city's pre-eminent DIY communities.

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¹ I use this phrase metaphorically, as there was, in fact, no stage, just a corner of the room for the bands to set up in.

² Have you checked out the new Optical Sounds website? It has a nice, uncluttered design with the music right up front-and-centre where it deserves to be.

³ But just to be clear, I am not willing to make any sacrifices in the centre of that pentagram. That's just asking for trouble.

⁴ When I saw them before, they were a quartet, though their CBC 3 page lists them as a trio — I have no idea if that's up-to-date or not. Their myspace doesn't add much information at all, but their facebook lists the membership as those two "and friends". No last names supplied anywhere I looked.

Gig: Against Life II

Against Life II: Against Love (feat. Anagram / Young Mother / Toddler Body / Bill Bill)

Bridge under Strachan Av. @ Gardiner Expressway. Saturday, July 3, 2010.

Perhaps the true rebels and rock'n'rollers are more keenly aware of it from moment to moment, but most of the time, we're oblivious to the weave and weft of formal and informal rules that surround and constrain us. Sometimes, we notice when authority steps beyond the normal limits and shows how casually it can impose its force on protesting bodies or on the body politic. If the bulk of life is dealing with all of that subtly deadening crap, then Against Life is the antidote. Sometimes we realize the limits of the usual when the constraints are pulled back and there's a space to act outside of authority or outside of capitalistic exchange.

This series of, well, call 'em "events" more than "concerts" is a successor to the famous series of Extermination Music Nights, which installed music-and-art happenings in unsanctioned, reclaimed spaces. There is, so far as I know, no manifesto or statement of purpose from the organizers, just an invitation to a location that is revealed not long before the show's midnight starting time. The events draw a diverse audience, from lovers of "weird" music, to principled DIY'ers to those who just want a BYOB sort of party.

Now me, I'm no radical in word or deed. I have — perhaps to an unhealthy degree — a quiet sort of belief in rules-based systems and an irrational attachment to propriety, making me, to some extent, an apollonian celebrant at a dionysian gig. But we're none of us any one thing, I guess, and after a corporate gig that was in almost every way the opposite of this, I was certainly looking for something "outside".

And so, headed out towards the Exhibition grounds — one of those Saturday Night Special streetcar rides where there's a guy slumped over, hurling out the narrow window opening — and walking up to find the parking lot identified in the invitation. Down the semi-muddy embankment and found myself under a bridge — an amazingly secluded spot with the ground banking up against one concrete wall, creating a quick sort of amphitheatre effect. Illumination was provided by a series of tiki torches lining the "stage" area, where the microphones and amps were clustered together, the generator off a bit to one side and a cardboard DJ shed on the other. Once the generator was cranked up, there was enough for the amps and PA plus a projector throwing up images on the wall above the embankment, mostly a loop of a guy climbing a ladder.

There was a small fire-based art installation, like a little pagan prayer circle, being set up, but otherwise, when I got there not long past midnight it was pretty quiet, with a sense of finishing touches being applied. There was a steady trickle of people showing up, peering around in the dark for friends and making their way over the rutted, somewhat uneven ground. The unofficial culture smells like lighter fluid, or paraffin or whatever it is keeping the torches burning.

Things got started about quarter to one with the experimental sounds of Bill Bill. The first selection was a sort of instrumental-type track, with a keening two-note synth riff and bird-noise like sounds. As the set continued, there was increasingly a "tribal" sort of feel, with two vocalists adding wordless sounds on top of a variety of distorted keyb noises. Someone beat on a drum. The group's myspace is pretty spare on more details about them, which seems befitting. As an element in this particular environment, the sounds filled the space well enough — I wasn't bored or turned off while they were playing, but qua music, it was kinda too formless for my liking.

Peering around as their set finished, I estimated there were maybe a couple hundred people about — given the nature of the event, people were coming and going throughout, and the crowd actually got denser as the night progressed. As the day's heat dissipated, the night temperature dropped ten or fifteen degrees and suddenly it was feeling chilly. Folks were drinking and hanging out, having a good time. There were some downsides to operating outside the regular strictures — people were smoking freely. And, sadly, in a sign of failed self-governance, littering.

As Toddler Body began playing, at first it seemed like this might be a more-straightforward musical experience — during their first song they sounded a bit like some sort of unholy alliance between Skinny Puppy and Bernie Worrell. The rest of the set was largely more "implied" than that and more decidedly on the "experimental" side of the ledger, although they brought more of a melodic sense to the table, mostly in the form of more regular drum-machine beats and squidgy synths. A musical partnership of Randall Gagne and Greydyn Gatti, the band came quipped with a keyboard and a table full of electronics.

The second piece featured a long, slow quieting fade, until it sounded like a muffled ringtone being played two rooms over. And after that there was more ambiance, with squiggles of sound hugging the fuzzy edges of ghosts of songs. Once again, this worked in context, even if it might not translate to something I'd want to hear in the light of day.

As it got later, the early, here-to-check-it-out crowd was increasingly supplemented by the more heavily drinking party crowd, and the shift to some less environmental music was achieved with Young Mother. "We're going to play some songs and shit", said bandleader Jesse James Laderoute as they started — songs being the exception so far in the night.

The band had totally impressed me the first time I saw 'em, when they stretched out one song over a fifteen minute set. This time, the band led off with a concise ninety-second burst — but it still had all the same elements in place, including the squealing sax and the locked-in rhythm section providing a nodding relationship with the melodic underpinnings of rock music. Their lean, slightly menacing undertow kept things steady while Laderoute sang, both in rapid wordbursts and occasionally in a more relaxed sing-speak. That one song I'd heard before ("I saw it coming a million miles away") was reprised, but here down to about a third of its former length. The last song of the set was the most prolonged, stretching out around nine minutes and was quite good stuff, with a high, spidery guitar line playing off the low-range thrum of everything else, as it built into a chaotic finale. By the end, someone was pouring liquor down the bass player's throat and then using the bottle as a slide on the neck while he continued playing. Some stirring music — Young Mother have some inneresting ideas and stay on my list of bands to see more of.

Listen to a track from this set here.

And then — at about a quarter-to-three — the mighty Anagram to close things out. All things considered, this felt like a perfect environment for their music. The band is in their element when there's no separation between themselves and the audience — despite a misanthropic lyrical outlook and a dark-edged musical attack, they are commendably community-minded when it comes to the sort of shows they play. Leading off with "Evil" — also the first track to their long-awaited new album Majewski¹ — perhaps the most noteworthy thing about an Anagram show is that there's no downshifting. "We're going to slow it down for a few minutes" isn't something you're going to hear.

Plus, the jostling-body chaos that comes with the territory always means that each show is going to be unique. At this one, to keep clear of bouncing bodies, I slid around from in front of the band, and ended up almost all the way over beside the bass amp. And when PA was knocked askew it ended up being pointed away from me. The guitar amp was way around on the other side of the band from me, which might be for the best as there was some piercing bursts of feedback coming from that direction.

"How It Seems" was suddenly cut shout by vocalist Matt Mason's shouts — "Kill the lights! Kill the fire! Get rid of the fucking fire now! Right now!" At the moment I thought it was a bit of dramatic posturing, but it turns out that the fire department were dropping by, and the open flame was their main concern. "Is anybody passed out? Does anybody need medical attention?" Apparently satisfied, the fire dept. went on their way, to cheers from the crowd and the band started back up. All of this I learned after that fact — from where I was standing, it was so dark that I couldn't actually see the firemen. And that was before the torches were extinguished. After that, things got murkier.

There was an undertow of frenzy building in the crowd. Not particularly in a dangerously violent sense so much as guttural debauchery. At some point the cardboard DJ booth was pulled down and was being passed around the crowd like a bodysurfer. There was the sense that it could all fall apart at any moment. The band was playing "Leads to Nowhere"² and it was feeling like it was all coming apart — that things were getting unplugged and increasingly ragged. The band was playing inside an increasingly smaller space as the crowd pushed in towards them.

And then the generator died. Some people further back in the crowd didn't pick up on that, calling out for an encore, as if that was the way the band had planned to end their set. The organizers were running around, trying to get the generator re-started, leading to about five unsettled minutes of standing around, when, anticlimactically, the police showed up to break things up.³

I'm sure there was antsiness on all sides, given the frayed nerves from the very-fresh memories of the G8 clampdown. As people started streaming away I wasn't worried I was going to end up in the hoosegow or anything, but I was feeling a plucky sense of occasion, so I followed some slightly-nervous younger folks leaving by the back door, which turned out to be the embankment leading back up to Strachan. After watching the tableau of folks scurrying out from under the bridge for a bit, I headed off, just a pedestrian making my way home in the late night.

Listen to a track from this set here — and enjoy an audio vérité recording of the night's end here.

There's a lot to praise the organizers for here. My sense is that they are, if not observing the official niceties of how one is supposed to hold an event, all the more principled and careful for it. The not-in-someone's-backyard locations are scouted so as not to interfere with other people's quiet enjoyment of the night. And there is a principled libertarian argument here, of self-determination and self-regulation — we choose to operate outside the Fire Code and the noise bylaw, so therefore we will be responsible for governing ourselves. Of course, when you add large numbers of drunken/stoned people to the mix, there are worries about, like, who needs that nanny state looking out for them, given the worst-case-scenario sort of things that could go wrong. I know it ain't likely, but these things always flash through my brain at events like this.

Still, I'm glad that events like this exist — I think it's more than just, like, a show at a venue where people can drink hooch straight from the bottle. In art, no less so than in our social interactions, we consciously and unconsciously subject ourselves to the limitation of what is "allowed". Exploring the liminal spaces — musical, artistic, social — serves to make us aware of the limited space we usually inhabit. And if the music or forms of interaction that are generated aren't all the best, such is the price of trying. So I'm glad that the people behind this are trying.

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¹ The album is now available and is getting a launch party in town tonight at Parts & Labour, and in Oshawa on November 6.

² Although the words were an almost-unintelligible mush heard live, the song has some entirely apropos lyrics abut darkness and lights crashing down.

³ Amusingly, given how much confusion about everything else going on, word of the police's arrival flashed through the crowd pretty quickly and effectively. To mix metaphors, it appears that even a broken telephone can be right once a night.

Gig: "Optical Sounds' Back to Cool Party"

"Optical Sounds' Back to Cool Party" (feat. The Hoa Hoa's / The Disraelis / The Peelies / Planet Creature

Rolly's Garage. Friday, September 11, 2009.

Perhaps it's fitting for Optical Sounds to throw a party in a garage, given their bands' common musical ground. It also works out well for a crew — as much a state of mind and statement of solidarity as a record label in the old-fashioned sense — that's looking to find some interesting places to play outside of the usual bar atmosphere. As such, Optical Sounds is quickly becoming a trademark of quality in Toronto not just for psychedelic-minded garage pop, but also purveyors of good old-fashioned "happenings".¹

A welcome relatively early start time on a workday, I cruised down Ossington to Rolly's Garage just before nine. For that extra touch of authenticity, a battered car door was leaning against the stairwell just inside the entrance. There was a decently groovy light show set up and a generally sweet ambiance. The only real setback for this as a venue is the lone bathroom available.² Things were running somewhat late as the crowd filtered in. Optical Sounds honcho Robert Gibson was pacing about like the father of the bride on the wedding day — the planning all done, but still fretting a bit and looking for something to do. He busied himself with going around the room, lighting incense sticks — and leaving them burning, leaving Femke Berkhout of The Hoa Hoa's to follow behind and blow them out so they could smoulder away.

First up were Planet Creature, the most recent addition to the Optical Sounds family. A five piece (getting some extra vox from Femke Berkhout) that fit well in the same figurative garage as the label's other bands, but do bring their own thing to the table. At this point, the band is a slightly ramshackle unit whose pop sense connects to a few diverse elements: the first song had vague country echoes, but mostly there were new-wave suggesting snake-y guit lines and fuzzy chunks of organ-y keyb. Driven by the Clare Anderson's urgent drums, the band played an entertaining seven-song set, gaining strength as they moved along, plenty harmonies sealing the deal. A little rough around the edges, but not in an unpleasing way. Worth checking out.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Next up were The Peelies visiting from Montréal, an, urm, appealing combo who brought the exuberance of a shy smile to rockin' bilingual tunes. Working in the same broad musical terrain as Planet Creature, the quartet recalled, say, a less-noisy Vivian Girls. In fact, there were some places where the guits could have used more drive and the tempos some juicing up, but when it came together, it was solid. A good vibe.

Listen to a track from this set here.

I expended most of my cleverest adjectives the last time I saw The Disraelis, so perhaps now suffice it to say they are quickly becoming one of my fave local bands, effortlessly churning out sets that are fabulous sounding without ever veering into sterility. Credit the warm blanket of Colin Bowers' guitar insulating against Cameron Ingles' dark-hour-of-regret laments. The all-male trio played compact versions of "The Bitter Ash" and "Secret" before stretching out on the last couple numbers. A blissful half hour — that new EP can't get here fast enough!

Listen to a track from this set here.

And then, to wrap things up, a trip with The Hoa Hoa's who played a relaxed, floating set of lysergic pop. Perhaps sounding a bit less urgent than I've heard them in the past, this just meant more time to enjoy the ride. A half hour focusing on their forthcoming album, including cuts like "Grew Up on The Seeds", "Vinyl Richie" and "Blue Acid Gumball", wrapping up, as advertised, just after midnight.

Listen to a track from this set here.

After the bands, the Garage party was continuing, but I was getting sleepy and made my way out. A fun night and a good event. Word is that Optical Sounds is doing a Halloween party, so keep your eyes peeled for that.

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¹ Or "events", as they are known to the less hip.

² Of course, there are several quiet alleyways in the nearby vicinity — hmmm... maybe that's why local residents are growing leery of the Ossington strip's recent explosive growth as an entertainment destination.

Gig: Bicycle Film Fest afterparty

The Dutchess and the Duke / The Bitters / Mutating Meltdown / Heaven (Bicycle Film Fest afterparty)

Studio Gallery. Saturday, August 22, 2009.

Made one slight error on this night in failing to write down on a scrap of paper the address of the unfamiliar place I was heading to — walked up and down on the south side of College a bit before I realized I was looking for an even number, and then crossed the street and found the spot I was looking for. The venue had a small poster outside the door, but nought else. Up a flight of stairs and pay the cover. The woman running the door has a copy of Ulysses on her table, and I off-handedly ask, "if you finish it before the end of the night, do you get a prize?" She looks at me, confused, and I wince internally — evidently this is not my night to win people over with my wit. Or not yet, anyways, as I find the bar and crack open a PBR.

The space is largely made up of two long, narrow rooms, parallel strips beside each other. One is black-walled and has a small stage at the far end, a DJ set up at a table one one of the long walls, a futon couch at the back beside a sad-looking fake plant. The other room is lit and filled with the slightly muffled sounds coming through the wall, but well-suited for mingling/conversation. The improvised bar is set up in the back. Minutes before eleven, when the first band is scheduled to play, both rooms are pretty much empty. Somewhat trepidatiously, I settle into the couch, and take another look around the darkened room — one entrance, no sprinklers, exposed wiring near the stage, big hole in the ceiling with dried plaster dangling down. The words "Great White" whisper through my mind and my inner Fire Marshall winced a bit.¹

In due time, Heaven take the stage. Having seen them just a couple weeks ago, I basically know what to expect, and get a fairly similar set — a bit more compact with five songs in just over a quarter hour. Interestingly, it seems like with a less powerful sound system, the songs are a little less awash in noise and the tunes have a bit more room to creep in. Familiarity might've helped, too, as I recognize a few hooks from the first time 'round. Not out to get you dancing and not out to win you over with onstage amiability, Heaven are putting on a good show regardless. Picked up their CD after the set, though on a quick examination the recorded output is a bit anaemic compared to what they're doing on stage.

Listen to a track from this set here.

After a break and a fairly quick turnover, Mutating Meltdown, out of Austin TX, hit the stage. A three-piece (drums, bass, keyb and everyone singing), they play a slightly herky-jerk kind of de-evolutionary post-punk — imagine early Six Finger Satellite as a surf band. The room is now looking a little emptier — I'm pretty much right up front and not exactly blocking anyone's view. The sound is pretty rough at the outset, and not a lot of vox are getting through, but the band has a fun groove. When Chad said, "this next song is a Styx cover", my recorder inexplicably shut itself down. Towards the end of the set, it all comes together, the songs finding the right balance of sci-fi keybs and feedback and the vox getting back in the mix. There didn't seem to be a large contingent of folks out for this band, but they were right down my alley.

Listen to a track from this set here.

Between sets, the room starts to fill up. The Bitters' crowd has arrived — rambunctious and passing around 40's of Old English. Once ready to go the band plays a powerful short set — "We only have five songs, so we're just gonna chill a minute" singer Ben Cook³ tells us in a tuning break between songs. It was sweaty fun, but I realize after the fact that I don't actually remember the music at all. Checking the recording, it comes back to me some — good old fashioned rock'n'roll energy with a punkish edge, co-ed vox up front from Cook and Aerin Fogel, and a beachball bouncing around the crowd. The band also brought along a good old-fashioned anti-most-things punk rock attitude ("Keep shoplifting our records from Soundscapes!") which the BYOB crowd ate up. I was mildly worried about the audience, but aside from some beer being mouth-sprayed into the air, this was a decent crowd of people to be in.²

Listen to a track from this set here.

After a quick break from the Black Room to cool off a bit, I return and note that the last band of the night are eschewing the stage, and setting up their gear on the floor. Before things get too crowded, I figure to stake out some real estate near the front of the crowd. Except for having been told that this is their DIY gig on the side after being the night's openers for Modest Mouse, I know pretty much nothing about The Dutchess and the Duke. But not long into the set, I realize I'm being completely fucking blown away. R&B in the sense that early Stones or Them or The Animals were R&B, the band (a five-piece co-fronted by the titular Kimberly Morrison and Jesse Lortz) had a batch of excellently-written songs, delivered here with off-the-cuff casualness blearily sagging into exhausted raggedness. It really felt like there was zero distance between performer and audience: shakers and tambourines were shared around, we sweated like they sweated, and the drummer's bottle of Johnny Walker Red got passed around so everyone could get a swig. By the end of the set, the walls were dripping with condensation and guitars were well nigh impossible to keep in tune. A singalong of "I Am Just a Ghost" capped the set — one of the best shows of the year.

I note that their sophomore album is due in early October, so hopefully it won't be long before they pass our way again.

Listen to a track from this set here.

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¹ I got the same feeling a bit later on heading to the bathroom, noting that all the party's patrons' were sharing a co-ed facility with one urinal and one toilet stall — less than pleasing, I'm guessing, to the line of women consigned to waiting on that one toilet.

I actually spent a bit of time while at the show — and more after the fact — thinking about the tensions between the event's DIY spirit and the sort of amenities I usually take for granted at a venue. While I realize I sort of have a vested interest in the folks putting these things together keeping the overhead low — so that it's cheap for me at the door and (hopefully) the artistes are getting paid at the end of the night — but I do appreciate some of those "finer things" at a venue. Call me soft and decadent. On the other hand hand, if it had to go through all of the nanny-state's bureaucratic wrangling, there's no way that shows like this would go on at all. I dunno, I guess — I'm totally not in the loop enough to know much about shows taking place in the "grey market", so maybe I was worry too much about small things.

² Which applied for the whole night, really. Partially just due to the two-roomed layout and the sheer volume by the stage, anyone not there for the band was wise to stay next door, meaning this was an attentive, well-into-the-music crowd, far less yappy than many a show I've been at.

A special note of praise for DIY kingpin Mark Pesci, the guy who put this whole thing together. This was an event serving several different audiences — I'm sure there were plenty of folks there for the party part of it and indifferent to the bands, as well as some like me who were just the opposite. (there were even a few peopel there for the "bicycle" element of it, based on a couple of guys I saw wearing spandex shorts and those little Tour de France hats.) It was nicely set up so as to keep the "just here to make the scene" crowd separate from the bands, which I appreciated.

³ Also of Fucked Up, and holder of a lengthy punk CV.