Elliot Brood at La Sala Rossa

Perhaps its from my days working as a merch girl that I have become sensitive to the ways in which bands will try and plug themselves. I noticed, in particular, that Elliot Brood had more than the usual assemblage of merchandise. Usually, a band will have a CD and a T shirt available, maybe a poster. This band had several shirts, screen printed posters, CDs, stickers, and pins! The whole enchilada, I guess. Is this how bands have to pay for the gas to get from place to place these days? But there was something also about the stage, with its folksy set up of red lights, triangle flags, that made me feel as though this band was offering not just music, but a package experience. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about the matter either. Neutral, I suppose. But, this trend toward increasingly savvy self marketing and the presentation of an experience, rather than just music, is a trend noted from my side of the stage.

Anyway, good show came down at Sala Rossa with Elliot Brood, with openers the Deep Dark Woods. Elliot Brood (I'm always fond of bands that have names that have no connection to anyone in the band) put on a barn burner of a performance. CBC was in the house, taping away, so the band seemed to make an extra effort to increase enthusiasm. I didn't think it was necessary given their outstanding performance and high energy, body moving songs. The band sits in the realm of alt-country, I suppose, or alt-folk. Sort of Sadies--esque, Corb Lund-esque, but not quite so twangy as those two notable Canadian outfits. Ultimately, it means that Elliot Brood has its own distinct sound.

Openers, the Deep Dark Woods from Saskatoon seemed less inspired than the headliners. This band was far more C&W in its songs and mellower in general. Pleasant, but also a bit too overshadowed by Brood. Although, maybe that is the point of an opening band. It warms the audience without stealing them. I was rather more absorbed by the incredible amount of facial hair than I was by any particular song.

Stories of Love and Sex

My favorite podcast, without a doubt, is the Moth -- real stories, told live, without notes. To my chagrin, the Moth is recorded in New York and L.A., with Chicago and Detroit as new locations. How tragic and sad for me. My love for stories is as boundless as the infinite universe (or as unbounded as the expanding universe before it decides to collapse should that be the case). When I caught wind of the annual International Storyteller's Festival in Qubec, I had to attend. And what better night to catch these word weavers than the night entitled Stories of Love and Sex?

The night brought four enchanters, wizards of words. I don't have enough praise for the experience. I sat in the back, expecting to bolt at any moment, only to find myself drunk with delight. Kicking things off was Quebec storyteller Stepahnie Beneteau. Her small frame and firey hair caught my attention before she spoke. Then, she launched into a story of an ancient Chinese man who coaxes his frigid wife into trying out some new positions. The audience roared with laughter at the euphemistic names for sexual positions.

She was followed by Alan Shain, a man whose obvious disability was first shocking and then forgotten as his story about how a Native American man uses the help of the village shaman to fashion a mighty, detachable penis in hopes of seducing the disinterested Pawamis.

After Alan was Yukon storyteller Ivan E. Coyote. She told a story that certainly sounded autobiographical, though one can never be certain with stories. Fiction and non-fiction weave together, and a good story-teller can tell a story that sounds autobiographical, but is not. The story was about finding love with a much younger, newly gay woman.

Last but not least was Jan Blake, of the UK and Jamaica. She was the "headliner" I suppose, but all four storytellers were amazing in their own way. Jan Blake was best at holding the audience under her spell. She told three stories (I think there were three!) that were drawn from Jamaican folk culture. Each was funny, somewhat erotic, and certainly ripe with humanity.

As the festival continues, I will hopefully be able to report back on some of the other delightful theme evenings that occur.

Share at the Green Room

My all time favorite place to hang out in Montreal is back in business. Huzzah. Green Room has returned. Hopefully its upstairs compliment, the Mile End Cultural Centre, will also find its feet again. All the same, the Green Room manages to combine great vibe, good dj nights, excellent art exhibits, and, of course, fantastic live music at better hours than some places that shall remain nameless.

Indie Montreal, the promoters/booking agents for this event, also deserve a quick nod for bringing lesser known music to this city and promoting lesser known local acts. I enjoy my concerts best when I don't have to wear earplugs and the audience has no idea what to expect. Hence, my seemingly psychic ability amongst friends to know what bands are worth listening to. They regularly consult me with the question, "Anything hot in Montreal these days?" And then I prattle off the list. Really, I just like small shows best and make a mental note of the ones that impress me. It's all the work of small promoters like Indie Montreal that make the $5-12 shows possible. Blue Skies Turn Black just brings in bigger much loved acts that have regular airplay on XMRadio. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but my budget does not allow me to see these acts. In better days, better times, perhaps some money will plunk down in my lap or I'll get a new radio show at one of the local stations and take advantage of free concert tickets or something along those lines.

Alright, enough props to the people who make things happen. Now, some props to the very excellent show I caught at the Green Room last night, promoted/booked by Indie Montreal. Owing to a lame ass friend, I missed the opening act, but I did catch the Maritime goodness of Share and Montreal local folk-popster Laurent Bourque last night. So happy to make it out to this show.

While Maritime music often tiptoes through folk and fiddling, it tends to feature a diversity of styles that make it hard to classify. From the first few songs, I thought Share was going to be a pleasant, folk-laced pop with a bit of melancholy to round out the upbeat strumming. There was a double bass, after all, a euphonium, and almost everyone was supporting the hipster-facial hair style of the moment (that would be something like a handlebar). I knew I'd like them, but it wouldn't grab me by the cahonas (if I had cahonas to grab). Au contraire, mes amis. Without warning, about four songs into the set, things got wilder and wilder. With three guitars going simultaneously, I'm talking huge wall of sound here. Nothing was as it seemed, I guess. Where I expected a jam, things ended abruptly, as if to tantalize me with an opportunity to dance that just was yanked away. I loved it, teased and delighted at the same time. I think this is the real feature of Maritime artists -- they're incredibly diverse and hard to slot in a single genre. Share is a band I'd like to share will everyone (I'm sure they hear that ALL THE TIME). Nuff said.

I missed the openers, as I mentioned, but holding the middle slot for the night was Montreal based Laurent Bourque and his lovely band. Bourque was more folk-pop, more singer-songwriterish than Share. What I liked most about him was that he really gave it his heart when he performed. He sang big, played big, and just exuded the love. He's a young sprout which means he'll probably be around the local scene for a good long time.

braids, bent by elephants, and pick a piper

I went because of my incredible fondness for Pick a Piper. It was Pop Montreal, one of my favorite festivals in the city. However, recent financial cash flow situations prevented me from partaking in this weekend of music goodness. I only caught a single show. Lucky for me it was AMAZING. Yes, totally and completely amazing. I didn't even see all four acts (curse you Pop Montreal for ridiculously late shows), but the three I saw were just ear candy to the max.

Let me start with Bent by Elephants. This unpretentious jazzy-folk-rock group is fronted by the endearing Chesley Walsh who is backed by musicians of the highest calibre. Walsh is strong as the soulful, full throated helmswoman, and she exudes warmth and charm. There's something about this band that melded hot apple pie with Dizzy Gillespie.

Next up, from a totally different music genre, was Braids. The two bands could not be more different, and yet, Braids was equally a mind blower for me. Think electronica and anime cuteness. A little more frenetic than Bent by Elephants, this band had me riveted as song flowed into song and the entire set folded back on itself in a symmetrical way.

Last but not least, Pick a Piper is what happens when drummers go wild. Two drum kits, lots of electronica, and a psychedellic guitarist. I've been loving this band since their last show at Trois MInots. This performance was a little less jungle beat and a lot more psychedellic-electronic tinged. Highly recommended.

All in all, two new bands to adore and an old new one that continues to develop and grow in good ways. Thank you Pop Montreal, thank you.

Young Galaxy and Treasure Hunt at Il Motore

Has it really been almost a month since I posted? I should hang my head in shame. It's not for lack of getting out and about! I've managed to get my butt back out to the concert circuit, see some films, check out some art openings. Time to post, Levine, time to post.

So, let me start with the latest and greatest. New amazing band alert. Yes, nothing like catching an act in its infancy so one can reminisce when that band suddenly sells out La Tulipe or Metorpolis (think... Patrick Watson, think... Plants and Animals, think... yeah... you get the point). Young Galaxy is going to be yet another jewel in the crown of the Montreal music scene. Granted, they're really from Vancouver, but I guess they're here now. Yay, us. Yay me, more appropriately, for catching this fantastic act at Il Motore and for like ten bucks, yo. Ten bucks! BARGOON! And the CD -- FIVE BUCKS. Holy schmokes. I picked it up and have been listening religiously since.

Okay, this band is centered on the vocal harmonizing and barganing of male-female couple Stephen Ramsay (guitars, vocals) and Catherine McCandless (keyboards, vocals). The two are backed by an extremely well greased machine behind them that gives depth and complexity to the emotive and pensive (if not emo-esque) lyrics. Though I read in the Mirror that McCandless was reluctant to sing in public, I couldn't believe that was ever the case. She belts out indie pop tune after indie pop tune without ever reaching the shallow end. This girl has got a great set of pipes -- haunting, crystalline, and all around replete with feeling. If she was the Souxsie, Ramsay is very much in the vein of the best morbid crooners I ever loved -- Robert Smith and Morrisey. Don't assume that a bent towards dark hearts and tortured love means the music is drippy or sappy. Au contraire. I was moving around with the rest of the happy music scenesters who were clearly more in the know than I was about this little engine that could. In summation, great stuff. This was by no means the band's first appearance, but I think we can expect that their meteoric climb to greater and greater recognition will be cosmic (yes, those are lousy intended puns).

Openers Treasure Hunt also deserve a quick nod and fist pump of approval. Though the claim was that this was a once in a lifetime pairing, and the busy touring schedules of those in the band might make that so, this little foursome was hot. Two drummers. Two bassists. Sounded like... metal? punk? heavy shit, no matter how I look at it. I suppose it was dude music and that most of the hooting and hollering came from the dudes in the audience and four very punk rock girls in the front. But, I like heavy and I like when the envelope gets stretched and the result cuts deep.

Ponyo

It's been far too long since I've written a review of anything artsy or cultural. However, the MIyazaki film Ponyo (otherwise titled Ponyo by the Cliffs by the Sea) seemed more than blog-worth for its combination of hand drawn animation with its Hans-Christian inspired Little Mermaid-esque story. This confluence of art and ideas demanded a few thoughts.

I'll start with the bad news first. The story of Ponyo is irregular and asks one to suspend disbelief in unimaginable ways. Five year old Sosuke finds what he believes to be a goldfish stuck in a jar. As it turns out, this is no ordinary goldfish, but Bruunhilde, the headstrong daughter of a powerful wizard whose job it is to maintain the balance of the sea with his magical potions. Despite her father's attempts to catch and keep her in his magic world, Bruunhilde prefers life with Sosuke entirely, even his onomatopoieic name for her: Ponyo. She sprouts legs and arms and returns to the surface with one of the most stunning animated sequences I have ever seen. Ponyo runs upon the waves of giant fish alongside the winding cliff roads leading towards Sosuke's house. Up until this point, the narrative of the film is quite strong, but it gives way to final third act that not only broke with my laws of movie plausibility, but also lacked narrative flow. Sosuke's mother leaves her five year old son and Ponyo alone in the middle of a tsunami-like storm to check on the elderly people in the retirement centre where she works. I can accept a human faced fish that sprouts chicken legs and a toy boat transformed to ridable size, but I simply can not accept that any mother, save for one on crack, would leave her five year old son alone. From there, Ponyo and Sosuke begin a gentle, child's quest to find the missing mother, unaware that they are being tested to see if Sosuke will commit to Ponyo forever. There is an allusion that she will turn into sea foam should the quest fails, but this particular threat never seems a possibility. Also, there is a subplot about the moon coming too close to the earth and throwing the forces of nature out of balance that seems to reverse itself deus-ex-machina-like and loosely hinged on Sosuke's choice. Oh, and there's a Cocoon moment when the elderly ladies are running around in a protective bubble to bear witness to Sosuke's choice. What??? I suppose last, but not least, how can saltwater Ponyo survive in a bucket of freshwater? Details, people, details.

Provided that leaving a five year old alone in a house in the middle of an environmental threat (tsunami-like conditions) is perfectly acceptable and provided that the whole moon subplot can be ignored, the rest of the story is charming and kitten-like, with a wide eyed wonder that is at turns sweetly humorous, poignant, and grandmotherly wise. The characters are endearing, especially Sosuke who is a genuinely good and flawless boy. He listens to his mother, endures the taunts of his girl classmates with grace, shows gentility to the elderly ladies, and takes his promises to others very seriously. Ponyo is equally lovable, a wild child red headed sprite who clearly didn't order the kosher meal for the plane with her requests for "Ham!" Sosuke's mother may be the most likable of all, though, with her intense wonder-mother ways -- closing doors with her feet, driving like a maniac, and her obvious frustration with her husband's absence. Small moments add Japanese humor to the film, such as when Ponyo and Sosuke share a noodle bowl with some ham and eggs that "magically" appear while their eyes are closed.

Where the movie excels, however, is its visual punch and imagination. Hand drawn animation is still my favorite and Miyazaki gives a feast of details. An octopus slides into the open door of Sosuke's house. A flock of sea creatures run across the seaside rocks. The ocean itself is the most breathtaking of all, changing forms and character as needed to suit the story. I immediately thought of the reputed number of words for snow in the Eskimo vocabulary -- only those who live by the sea could understand how the sea has many moods and nuances. The underwater world and its collision with the human one is a masterpiece of imagination. The five year old perspective makes simple things meaningful -- a candle grown to giant size, for example. Reflections in mirrors, in the water, and the effect of light and wind are whispered details that elevate this film above many others, even those filmed in HD.

All in all, Ponyo is delightful and sweet story, but problematic in its narrative, especially in the final third. While I am glad to inhabit a fantasy world, I can't let go of certain realities, such as the responsibility of a mother to her child. The likable characters and animation don't make up for the flaws, but are admirable in their own right.

Futensil, Devil Eyes, and Zoobombs at Divan Orange

I feel so punk as fuck. These three punk bands, all of varying versions of the genre (one day I will learn the terminology for punk styles), took Divan Orange to its motherfucking knees. Too bad I haven't got the same fire in me to give rebel yells and knock over garbage cans or deface things for fun. I guess I got old, but I still love good punk music. I just listen with earplugs in my ears now to preserve what I've got left of my hearing for the next 65ish years of my life. I want to be long lived and hear punk music.

Okay, so most of these bands are a bit wide of the radar, so I'll just scrub in here and let you know what they're about.

Futensil, whose name I think comes from the words futile and utensil put together, although I am not certain. Fitting, I suppose for a noise band trio that straddles the fine line between musicality and deconstruction. They never went so far into the sound that I lost a sense of the song, almost like a rubber band stretching to its limit, and then safely snapping back into shape. They projected a kind of maniacal pleasure and I imagine I'll be seeing these kids around again. Put 'em on your buzz band list.

Devil Eyes has been carving a niche in the scene with regular appearances, no two of which are alike. Art-punk-blues? Garage-swamp-fireworks? Hard to classify, because there's always some spectacle that accompanies the rugged, raw, and raging music. The band has a subversive, won't-be-members-of-any-club-that'll-have-us ethos. Maybe its because they abuse (tease? torment? or simply experiment with?) every variation of sound they can make in a show? Don't be fooled by the bullwhipped guitar schtick (yes, because it does happen). Just take a few moments to watch the band members play their respective and exchanged instruments and you know they have talent aplenty. Makes me think... this band could do and be anything they want and so they do exactly that -- they are everything all at once, bringing genres and variants into a chaotic mash. This band is a local must see because they take you places you didn't know you could go. In a way, its kind of heady stuff, but that realization only comes later, on reflection.

Finally, the headliners, the zoobombs, Japan's brilliant mad mash of garage punk meets... I don't even know. I'm told its blues, but that didn't come to mind at all during this show. Post-show, their mp3s were more bluesy, but I didn't really sense that at all at Divan O. The sheer energetic frenzy is wonderful to behold. Every song is an earscape and body bone rattler. Instrumental jams with vocals I barely caught. But, even better, there's no egotistical posturing, no nudge-nudge wink-wink meta-music going on here. This is sheer joy, a complete energetic transmission in which the conductors pick up no friction, and that is what makes live music my favorite past time.