Let’s get one thing straight-you can sell your soul to rock’n’roll, but that doesn’t mean your body will keep up. 4 nights, dozens of clubs, hundreds of bands-the math never quite adds up the way you’d like it to, but we music fans still give it our best shot regardless. There’s a special place in hell for whoever decided Canadian Music Week should take place in early March, when trudging from venue to venue in ankle-deep slush is the norm, but when all is said and done, there’s always good times (and bad) to be had. We abandoned sleep and headed out to the clubs-all in service of the Rock.
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 2
Phoenix Concert Theatre
Esthero -11:30 pm
Any lingering bitterness at having completely missed rising local death disco squad controller.controller’s set was quickly wiped out by the charm attack mounted by comeback queen Esthero and her terrific band. As her manager, smirky Canadian Idol judge Zack Werner, yammered into a cellphone and hordes of indie kids pressed up like a pack of lemmings right against the edge of the stage, she wasted no time in reminding us how much she’s been missed in the seven years since her last record.
Kicking things off with a flirty version of the title track from her upcoming Wikked L’il Girls disc (due to finally drop in April), the pirate-shirted and crinoline-sporting diva crooned, shimmied, twirled, and clapped her way back into the hearts of the hometown faithful. “Long time no see,” she purred off the top. “Can you tell I’m nervous?” If she was, it certainly didn’t show. Backed by an impressively large ensemble that included two drummers, two backup singers, and a horn section, the soul-hop siren offered up a world-class performance that belied her long absence from the scene.
Though a muddy sound mix initially buried her vocals, it soon cleared up and the focus was back-as it rightfully should have been-on her remarkable voice, which is still as soaring as it was on her Breath From Another debut. And though most of the set was obviously culled from her forthcoming release, she trotted out old Breath nuggets “The World I Know” and “Half a World Away,” much to the surprise and delight of the crowd, who started dancing like it was 1998 all over again.
Word has it that Esthero, who once sang with Black Eyed Peas and who’s name-dropped by some of the biggest names in the biz, has no trouble being recognized in L.A., and the presence of Outkast’s Andre 3000 (who guests on the album) hanging out on the balcony at the Phoenix suggests that’s not just hype. For once, Toronto, don’t sleep-this girl has It.
FRIDAY, MARCH 4
El Mocambo
Sixtoo – 12 am
Looks like the non-smoking bylaw is having its effect on crowds, because there seemed to be more folks puffing away outside the Elmo than there were inside for Montreal-via-Halifax beat wizard Sixtoo. Which seemed odd, given his status as a highly regarded forerunner of instrumental hip-hop-his CMW showcase had been hotly tipped as one to watch. However, upon entering the Elmo only to find Sixtoo hunched over turntables on an otherwise empty stage, it quickly became apparent that he was playing a straight-up DJ set rather than a live reworking of his jazzy experimental electronic soundscapes.
He offered up a solid selection of bass-heavy hip-hop and showed off some smooth mixing skillz while cool black-and-white animation played on a screen behind him, but ultimately watching a dude spin records-especially when you were expecting something else entirely-is boring.
LAL – 1 am
T-dot groove merchants LAL never quite seem to get the hometown love they deserve-fresh from a tour of Europe, they probably weren’t relishing the idea of playing a 1 a.m. festival slot, but singer Rosina expressed appreciation for those who stuck around: “This is the biggest CMW audience we’ve ever had-usually there are like five people or something.”
Their organic-electro vibe got some brave souls undulating, though Rosina’s spacey vocals were often lost in the thick layers of sound, and the standup electric bass mixed much too high so that it sounded harsh. “We’re going to take you to where we come from,” she declared as producer Murs’ iBook beats kicked in on top of the percussionist’s tabla rhythms. In today’s Toronto, it’s welcome to see a band incorporating their multicultural heritage into their music. While LAL’s brand of smooth trip-hop (think a funkier Zero 7) can be a bit snoozy at times, their Eastern influences mixed with fresh beats set them apart from the rest of the pack.
Then there’s their progressive politics, which they aren’t afraid to wear on their sleeves-Rosina’s between-song chatter was more polemic than banter. “This city is too fucking polluted-we need to change that shit,” she declared immediately after intoning an ethereal chorus. The crowd didn’t quite know how to respond, but it didn’t faze LAL any-they know better than most that all good soul music comes from both the heart and the head.
SATURDAY, MARCH 5
John Mullane – The Rivoli, 8:30 pm
Thanks to a last-minute invite by singer/songwriter Emm Gryner, we ended up at an industry shindig promoting East Coast music. With local music biz veteran Cam Carpenter playing gatekeeper at the door and free beer and nibbles spread out on tables inside, former MuchMusic host/producer (Going Coastal, MuchEast) Mike Campbell played emcee for the night, introducing the acts he often books at his club back in Halifax. In-Flight Safety’s John Mullane was up first, sweetly adorable in indie-boy uniform of hoodie and blazer. Performing solo on acoustic guitar (“It’s so weird without the big drums backing me up”), he stripped the tuneful IFS pop anthems down to their melodic core, capturing the attention of the usually garrulous industry types and making one and all wonder why on earth In-Flight Safety isn’t: a) huge, and b) all over the radio dial.
The Mark Inside – Horseshoe Tavern, 9 pm
If there’s any band that can get a crowd moving like it’s midnight, when it’s actually only 9 p.m., it’s The Mark Inside. Continuing in the vein of The Deadly Snakes and The Constantines, The Mark Inside offer up a catchy mix of loud, blues-inspired punk rock that works to soothe your soul even as it kicks your ass. Before the band had even finished setting up their gear, the early crowd at the ‘Shoe was packed right up to the edge of the stage, waiting in anxious anticipation for the audio assault from these Whitby buzz-boys to begin.
Without delay, the band obliged and ripped into its set, opening with fan favourite “Questions,” a newer song which showcases Chris Levoir’s savagely raw vocals and one of Geoff Bennett’s catchiest bass lines to date. By the time the band launched into “Carousel,” the frantic first single off of their debut CD, Static/Crash, The Mark Inside owned the crowd at the Horseshoe. While hardcore fans were unabashedly rocking out, the industry types were uncharacteristically silent, meaning that their banal conversations about the awesomeness of Xavier Rudd and the originality of The Trews had taken a back seat to something better-that is, something actually good. I think I even saw one suit chug half his Heineken in an effervescent salute to Gus Harris’ mind-blowing guitar solo at the end of “Dead Already.” Hats off to The Mark Inside-theirs was easily the best show I saw at CMW.-JORDAN BIMM
COMFORT ZONE:
Shikasta – 9:30 pm
Unfortunately, we arrived just in time to catch a barrage of noise courtesy of Shikasta, three guys drowning in sweat from pummeling their instruments. Barreling into each short number with barely a pause in between, they played at such punishing volume that I thought my spleen would explode. Couldn’t make out a single word through all the screaming, though the singer/screamer provided the sole moment of interest (not counting the fact that their bassist looked a bit like Vin Diesel) when he hauled himself onto the dancefloor, guitar and all.
The Two Koreas – 10 pm
Thankfully, that painful experience was quickly erased by local indie upstarts The Two Koreas, who have gone from being a cute gimmick (bunch of editors/critics from Eye mag form band) to a real contender. Playing tunes from their super-catchy new Main Plates and Classic Pies disc (that’s currently climbing the charts at CIUT), the Koreas injected their retro rhythms with some killer guitar work courtesy of Uncut’s Ian Worang for an homage to the genre (that whole danceable, angular New Wave rock thing) that’s more cheeky than slavish.
The band has gelled into a tight unit over the past year or so, and frontman Stuart Berman (full disclosure: my editor at Eye, not to mention a former Varsity Arts editor) has turned into a very fine shouter indeed, belting out the infectious choruses and taking his act right into the crowd (what’s up with all the local indie-rockers breaking down the fourth wall these days? At least with the Comfort Zone’s low stage and wide dancefloor, it worked well). Even when he suffered a wardrobe malfunction, Berman hopped off the stage, changed, and returned without missing a beat (and before the song was even over).
With many of their Eye colleagues cheering them on and infamous irritant Flyerman (if you go to any shows in this town, you’ll know who I’m talking about-the dude with the jacket that lights up and who thinks he’s famous. Well, they did make a movie about him last year, but I digress) strutting about the room, the Koreas came off as a bunch of guys just having a whole lotta fun, and really, that’s just what they are.
They say those who can’t, teach-in the Koreas’ case, these music critics could teach plenty of other bands a thing or two.
Gentleman Reg – 11 pm
One wondered whose idea of a sick joke it was to put whispery crooner Gentleman Reg on this bill (probably madcap promoter Dan Burke, who was putting on that night’s showcase at the Zone), but surprisingly, the sensitive singer/songwriter more than held his own, thankfully bolstered by a solid backing band that fleshed out his delicate tunes. “It’s the Gentleman Reg rock set tonight,” he quipped. “We have to keep up with the rest of the lineup.” Wielding an electric guitar for the entire set, he charmed the increasingly large crowd with his pure-pop melodies and clever lyrics.
Reg’s cracked falsetto is an acquired taste, to be sure, but there’s something unique and oddly pretty in his voice that compels you to listen closely. Violinist Owen Pallett (fresh off a tour opening for the Arcade Fire) added colour with his plucked and bowed strings, and robust drumming turned “It’s Not Safe to Be Naked” into an all-out indie-rock anthem. By the time Reg and Co. wrapped up with a rollicking country hoedown version of “The Boyfriend Song,” one just had to smile at the realization that what sometimes seems like a suicide mission can actually be an opportunity in waiting.
Boy Ballz – 12 am
With a name like that, it was pretty obvious what we were in for, and the Boy Balls didn’t disappoint. Taking the stage in a burst of smoke courtesy of their own fog machine (no, really), the large crew (it was getting really hard to see through the throng by this point in the night) laid down the grooves fat (phat?) and heavy and proceed to rap about… The Zoobombs. This quickly became a major theme of their set-clearly chuffed to be on right before the ‘Bombs, the Boyz’s lead singer/rapper Deci Ballz kept mentioning them every five minutes or so.
From Deci’s fedora and polyester shirt to the bassist rocking a 70s-style gym jacket and sweatband, the band’s diverse selection of attire was mirrored by their rather, uh, eclectic sound, a mash-up of hip-hop/punk/rockabilly and pretty much everything in between, all capped off by some passionate soul shouting.
“I’m blaming you for this,” the Varsity photographer hissed at me as the BBs launched into “Dominate,” which featured the immortal line, “I’d like to lay you down like the Baby Jesus.” Uh huh. Did I mention the classic “Chubby Lady”?
Playing to a full house, the band hammed it up accordingly, and the crowd seemed sufficiently liquored up to really get into it (the number of hipster dudes near the front of the stage throwing their hands up in the air in hip-hop salutes was a bit unnerving). “We’re the Boy Ballz, you’re the biatches!” cried Desi at one point. So true, so true.
High (low?)-concept buffoonery of the highest order. Must be seen at least once to be truly believed.
The Zoobombs – 1 am
When a band comes all the way from Japan, you go see them. And when everyone and their mother insists that they must be seen, well, end of story. As such, it seemed like half of Toronto had descended on the grimy confines of the Comfort Zone by the time The Zoobombs made the last of their three CMW appearances (they’d played in the 1 a.m. slot the previous two nights as well, thanks to some overzealous booking by their “Canadian godfather” Dan Burke.
With Burke scuttling back and forth like an expectant father, the buzz spread around the room as the ‘Bombs unassumingly set up their gear on stage. By the time Burke stepped onto the stage cradling the singer and keyboardist’s toddler in his arms (Dan Burke! Holding a baby! CMW moment of the week, bar none. Though one hoped that poor child was wearing earplugs) as he introduced the band, they could have played the triangle for an hour and the crowd would have probably eaten it up. But from the minute they fired up, the ‘funky hardcore’ quintet showed not a hint of weariness from their extended Toronto stint.
Who would have thought a band with bongos and sax could be so damn loud? Rubbery lead screamer/guitarist Don Matsuo exhumed the ghosts of MC5 and early Stones like his very life depended on it, while his bandmates offered up hints of an almost free-jazz direction, the sax and keys tempering the noise with a melodic edge. It was rarely possible to make out what Matsuo was hollering, but sometimes all you really need is a good “Oh, yeaaahhhhh.”
There’s something about Japanese garage rock bands-they’ve just got this uncanny ability to distill everything about good old-fashioned American rock’n’roll down to its essential parts. Though their extended jams and sheer volume often meant that The Zoobombs’ tunes eventually started to blur into each other, when the playing is that fast and furious, it would be churlish to even remotely complain.
