Shout out out out out and the Casecos at La Sala Rossa

Free tickets? I am never one to say no to free tickets! And where exactly did these free tickets lead me? To see two CBC favorite bands from the indie scene. There was a third band, but I managed to skip out on them because I had to talk to my +1 guest. I might have kept on talking to my +1 guest and missed Shout out out out out if he hadn't bothered to point out that the main act might be starting. Some conversations are completely engrossing.

Anyway, let's start with the Casecos. Toronto based band, from what I understand. As the openers, they played to a mostly shy crowd dispersed at the edges of the room. People were head shaking and shifting in place to their groovy disco beats, but no one was brave enough to dance until the last song. Which is a shame, because they were a fine act. The band seemed slightly disappointed by this fact -- I suppose they don't know the whimsical nature of Montrealers, nor might they know that during exam week at the Universities, the usual audience is library bound. I can't say too much about them, in part because I've only ever heard them from one song played on CBC's music podcast about a year ago (???), so this was my first foray into their live act.

As mentioned, I didn't even catch the smalltown DJs. Too bad.

But, Shout out out out out (I'll just refer to them as SOOOO), was in fine style. This electronic act is in the vein of LCD soundsystem and Mouse on Mars... highly electronic. Though, they add my favorite component... a live drummer. Make that two live drummers! Yehaw! If only I did acid or heroin, the experience would be straight out of the rave scene of the 80s. Fortunately, that absentee audience appeared and was ready to boogie down to the electronic aural feast. With Korgs a flying (can Korgs fly?), they got me moving and the whole room shaking down, big and small alike. This is a big act that far exceeds anything pre-recorded on a CD. They have to be seen live to be appreciated, and I dare say that their old jams and new jams are lovable booty shakers alike.

Sadies and Bloodshot Bill at Sala Rossa

The Sadies are a band that changed my life.

Many years ago, while collecting boxes for packing from Kinkos for my upcoming move to New Brunswick, I overheard a girl on the phone telling her friend that she "had sex with the singer from the Sadies" and "he was in her bed now." I'd seen the Sadies several times in Toronto at that point and I had friends who swooned over Dallas Good and practically pinned me to a table at the Horseshoe when I said I'd introduce them to him (not that I knew him, but I was drunk and life was good so why not...). Keep in mind that there are two singers in the Sadies and seriously, the girl could have been BSing. But that doesn't matter. What does matter is this: upon overhearing this important phonecall, I turned around, expecting to see some kind of supermodel. In my mind, only the hottest of the hot hooked up with people in bands. Instead, I saw a girl who couldn't have been taller than me (I'm short), who looked a little unkempt but kind of cool at the same time, and just... well... regular... like me. My entire worldview shifted. I realized that I could change my life at that moment and I was going to become the kind of person who could hook up with the boys in the band (not the Sadies, of course, but any band). Perhaps not a lofty high minded goal, but a goal that fit my mental state at the time, which was... very, very, very low following a very, very, very sad separation from my husband. It was the first goal I had in a very long time and for that reason, monumental.

And so, my life changed. I went to New Brunswick and did things I never thought I would do. I extended myself. I became friendly with bands and artists, had a radio show (which this very blog is named for), and found my way back to true self.

For this, I thank the Sadies.

The reason for this lengthy, and quite personal, preamble is this. A Sadies show is a religious experience for me. I get to worship at the temple of music. The Sadies can do no wrong in my eyes. So, all I can do is gush. The audience was electric. The dancing was aces up. The Sadies play long, kick ass sets and never seem to miss a favorite. They even threw in a few by the Unintended. What else can I say? These guys are the cat's ass and every time I see them, the magic of possibility is renewed. 30 songs of main set, 10 in an encore, and then three more in a second encore. Greg Keillor (I was asked by the boy next to me who he was. It made me want to cry. I am that old that people who dance around me no longer know Greg Keillor) played a few. Now, with smashed toes, sore muscles, and sweat on very part of my body, I think I can say, this was (as expected) an excellent show.

A few words about Bloodshot Bill... I love that guy. He's so... weird. He'll never get mistaken for a Canadian Idol contestant with his yodels, moans, shrieks, and piercing holler. But, he's got so much heart that I swear he's got some piece of the Elvis spirit in his pocket. He warmed things up nicely at the start of the set, with a one man performance with energy that could only be matched by a Freshman on his fourth Redbull.

Punkz not dead! It just dilutes: Vancougar, Chocolat, Jay Reatard at the Cabaret

I'll start with Vancougar, since these ladies played first to those who dared come early enough to see the opening act. These four talented ladies put the Ps in Pop and Punk, which is the best way. I don't mean Dead Kennedys punk. Think 80's punk-pop sort of new wave and that's exactly their sound. They were a solid four-piece, standard bass-guitar-keys-drums, with some sweet harmonies, and catchy tunes. A group of women musicians always risk being a little on the saccharine side with too much technique and not enough bone chewin'. Their cute name (I rather like it, but these are not cougars by any stretch of the imagination) and matching "rocker" suits didn't do much to give them depth. I was worried that these girls had no chops, but about halfway through their set, they seemed to grind and rock out a little more. Montreal can be a tough town, though, and Vancouver is a long way away. Every song was well done, and the dynamic between them is enjoyable to watch. I liken them to the GoGos, back when the GoGos were cool.



Next up was Montreal's much beloved Jimmy Hunt in one of his newer incarnations: Chocolat. Jimi Hunt has been around the scene for a long time, a champion of that mod-electro 60's style that gets the kids dancing here. This band brings together members of Hunt's band the Demon's Claws with some members of the CPC Gangbangs. WIth fuzz, reverb, and a certain amount of psychedellia (I don't think they pull it off quite as well as the artists of the 60s, but drugs these days aren't what the drugs of yesterday were), they put on a ballsy show. And the audience? The audience practically threw themselves on the stage in adoration. Hunt crooned, wailed, caterwalled, and folked while the rest of the piece band provided effective backup as well as outstanding solos by second guitarist Dale MacDonald who even flung himself at the feet of Hunt in a rock spin of solo madness. Make no mistake, if Vancougar worked the black denim Canadian leisure suit, Chocolat worked the bargain bin at the Salvation Army. Obviously, the Montreal one, since tight pants ruled the day. Hunt is iconic, emblematic: a scarecrow come to life, with his checkered plaid shirt, fedora, and harmonica strap. The Dylan comparisons are more than appropriate.

Finally, hair rockers Jay Reatard. Reatard harkens back to the 80s and 90s, when men wore tiger print spandex and eyeliner and played guitars that were shaped like lightning bolts (in this case, a flying V). Reatard, fortunately, forewent the spandex, but the sound was unmistakable. If only he'd brought the fog machine and a better light show. This is hair metal. That glam rock meets hard rock sort of thing. It isn't hard to imagine these three dudes sitting in their basement, taking bong hits, and head banging along with Motley Crue, ACDC, and um... Meatloaf? Loud, crunchy, riffy, power-chordy. Which is not to say un-talented -- this is real music, but it isn't serious. Songs clock in under 2 minutes apiece and the entire set might have been a half hour long. Who cares? It's awesome! Reatard is fun. Big fun. Indie rock kind of fun. Indie rock? You read that right. Seems that as the music of my youth becomes retro to today's 20-somethings, the genre switches. What once would have been metal has become the mainstay of today's fans of the alt independent scene. Not that I'm complaining. I liked some of those MTV bands and know all the words to the Final Countdown.

Caribou Concert Review La Tulipe

I have two favourite bands. One is the Jimmy Swift Band of Halifax Nova Scotia, a band that has defined a new genre called rocktronica. Well, actually, Pink Floyd is rocktronica too – a melding of good old solid rock and electronica. To me, the sound is transcendent.

The same can be said of my second favourite band, Caribou, fronted by David Snaith of Dundas, Ontario. Formerly, the band was called Manitoba (even the term “band” is a bit of a misnomer, since it seems to have been simply Snaith). Snaith’s music is electronic psychedellia – a little kraut rock added, perhaps. His soft pitched voice is simply one more instrument among the others he combines to create music that is both intricate and addictive. However, backed with a full band, Caribou sounds heavier, funkier, a little bit earthier than Snaith alone. Which is not to say that any of the psychedelic dreaminess is lost by the inclusions of others. This band is an acid trip, a chance to connect with the divinity of all men, a oneness in the universe. In other words, this band is my other favourite band.

Carbiou’s show at La Tulipe was riveting. How could it not be? Any time you put two drummers head to head and have them play complicated rhythms in sync, it’s going to be impressive. The bigness of the drum sound together and its execution is just… special. Worthy of praise beyond praise. Snaith and his band switch off to pull in a melodica, a recorder, a xylophone, and a few ambient noises like dog barks to add complexity. Songs played came from across most of the records released, each delivered with flawless awe. Personal favourites are Bees, Melody Day, and well… all of them really. The rapport among the band members is evident and their joy is visible.

The band was bathed in a changing pattern of geometrics and colors flashed behind them on a screen. This light show, which I believe is a computer projection off the balcony, compensates for the one thing the band doesn’t have – audience rapport. While playing, the band is completely engrossed in the music (with good reason – this is complicated stuff). One song quickly switches to the next, with no introduction or context. Snaith mumbles a word of thanks and waves his appreciation; one senses his gratitude, but also his timidity. Caribou’s performance is a spectacle of light and sound and the excellence of these two things it what causes the transcendent feeling. It is not an active seduction the audience. I do not feel enticed or personally connected with the performers. I am rather just meant to absorb their excellence. Not that I am complaining.

Best touring to you, Caribou, my second favourite band. May you return quickly.

Jose Gonzalez Concert Review Juste pour Rire Theatre

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW.
Alright, I am going to tangent about concert T-shirts before I say a few words about Jose's panty removing performance at the Just for Laughs Theatre last night.
I admit that I lately have a thing where I want to buy concert T-shirts lately. Why? I have this obsession with wearing concert T-shirts to the gym. Other people sweat away in their spandex and sport specific apparel, ATHLETE stuff. I suppose it is some kind of psychological boost, since I question the necessity of $150 spandex shorts for bench pressing for 2 minutes followed by a very strenusous sittitng around for 15 minutes while watching everyone else. I suppose owning $150 spandex shorts means that you need to get your butt to the gym so you can use them or else the guilt alone will kill you. Notably, some of the most serious athletes at the gym wear the same dingy but comfortable outfit each time. So, I wanted to meld the two --a psychological boost with something I like wearing. What could be more perfect than my Do Make Say Think T-shirt? However, it's starting to smell and I need some other concert T-shirts so I can throw it in the wash. Fortunately, Jose Gonzalez offered me the perfect opportunity to pick up a fresh T-shirt to add to my rotating cast of gym clothes.

Back to the concert. Jose Gonzalez. Wow. I mean, what else can I say but wow? The guy oozed on the sensuality through his vulnerability and his talent. This is the kind of music that makes women peel off their panties. Like John Mayer or Elliot Smith. I suppose I can make endless references to the limited cannon of guitair playing soloists I know... he makes me think of early Martin Sexon... but that sounds sort of pretentious and makes it sound as though I have a huge repetoire to draw upon. But, I see the same use of picking out a bass line with one's thumb, something that Marty made into his trademark.

Gonzalez started with a series of solo songs, just him on a chair and his guitair. The theatre was so packed that it was impossible to see him, except for the top of his afro. I found a perch on the steps at the back of the theatre, which I held faithfully through the entire show. After his solo act, he was joined by two band members, who gave body and range to the mournful sensitivity. I would never call it "lush." This was stripped down music, left at its most basic -- angelic vocals, talented guitair playing, simple instrumental backing (not even a full drum kit!). From alpha to omega, and probably beyond, I could stay the course with this cat.

Any complaints? Well, after the show he didn't come up to me and say, "Hey, baby, nice boots. I've got this great bus, if you want to check it out."

For his website:
http://www.jose-gonzalez.com/