We’re all wedded to our own particular musical tastes-whether you sing showtunes in the shower or like to get crunk with bass-heavy hip-hop tunes, admit it, you rarely stray beyond that comfort zone. Varsity editors
J.P. Antonacci and Matt Somers are diametric opposites when it comes to their sounds of choice-the former prefers something symphonic, while the latter likes it loud. In chatting one day, they hit on a brilliant concept: in the name of broadening their artistic horizons, each decided to walk in the other’s musical shoes for an evening and report back (in the grand tradition of ‘investigative’ journalism). They found their adventure was full of surprises-we think you will, too.-TABASSUM SIDDIQUI, Arts Editor
Photos by KARA DILLON
Sports editor MATT SOMERS moves from the mosh pit to the concert hall and finds that sometimes technique can trump sheer volume
Hello, my name is Matt and I am a metalhead. That means I love listening to loud, aggressive music that makes you want to headbang and throw your devil horns in the air.
Once in a while, though, I like to step outside my comfort zone and try something new.
Checking out a symphony is about as far away from my usual musical fare as it gets. So when Comment editor J.P. Antonacci-an individual whose musical tastes are at the polar opposite of mine (he enjoys classical music and jazz-and I like all things hard) were talking about our musical proclivities one day, we thought it might be fun to do a “concert swap.”
We decided that I would put on my Sunday best and attend my first-ever classical concert, and he would get down and dirty at a metal show with me. Needless to say, the results were fascinating.
J.P. and I paid the Toronto Symphony Orchestra (TSO) a little visit on February 11 for the first half of the trade-off. The show at Roy Thomson Hall was termed a “gateway” concert by my esteemed collegue, as it was light fare by symphony standards.
We were treated to An American Portrait, which included a variety of showtunes and modern American classical numbers. As a veteran of metal shows, I was expecting the sound of the orchestra to be overwhelming-however, it turned out to be much more manageable than I had predicted. I could still hear by the end of the show-a rather pleasant change.
We sat in the front row of our section and were only slightly above stage level, making us close enough to throw bottles at the musicians if they were not playing up to par. But remembering that this was the TSO and not, say, In Flames, I refrained from such rowdy behaviour.
I was relieved to find out that I had a comfortable seat to take in the experience, instead of having to battle for my life in a violent mosh pit. I noticed, however, that midway through the show I started to yawn a bit and felt like closing my eyes and letting the music carry me away to a vivid dream world full of great shapes and sounds.
I missed not being able to get up and move around during the performance. I also regretted not being able to get up and grab a beer during the show without offending anyone, which happens every so often at metal shows-where the number of sober people is much easier to count than the number of inebriates.
The crowd was much more mixed than I expected. There were the typical middle-agers in their suits and dresses, but there was also a number of twentysomethings wearing jeans. I didn’t feel as out of place as I expected in my cargo pants and fuzzy sweater.
On the other hand, there wasn’t a lot of ethnic diversity in the crowd. The largely white audience made me feel a bit like I was at a Conservative Party convention.
The formalism, tradition, and rituals involved in a TSO performance caught my attention. For example, after every piece the orchestra and conductor take bows and receive applause, and after every song the conductor leaves for a moment and comes back in order to get more love from the gathered faithful. I couldn’t help thinking that these guys must love having their egos stroked.
The show was conducted by JoAnn Falletta, which surprised J.P. He informed me that it is still rare to see a female conductor, once again proving that some old habits die hard. I was stunned by this revelation, as I don’t see why musicians would care who was leading them, as long as the person is qualified for the job.
Given the conservative, slow-changing nature of the beast, I was surprised that one song had been penetrated by-gasp-elements of jazz! Granted, it was a showtune-“Symphonic Dances” from West Side Story, which even involved the orchestra clapping and shouting at times.
I definitely preferred the lively, fun numbers like “Symphonic Dances” to the stodgier, more traditional pieces, although the musicians looked slightly silly doing all those wacky actions in their fine clothes. Still, thank heavens we went on a “light” night.
Gershwin’s “Rhapsody in Blue” was the piece that most impressed me. The piano work of 21-year-old Darrett Zusko-whose talent made J.P. and me feel inferior-was unbelievable. He was hammering on those keys with blazing speed, constantly crossing his hands over each other without missing a note. How the hell can anyone play that fast?
Also, while I listened to “Buckaroo Holiday” from Rodeo, I felt like I was galloping out on the plains on my trusty steed (I really wish I wasn’t allergic to horses at times like this).
The TSO was interesting, but I don’t think it will ever take the place of metal shows as my favourite type of live music. I did leave with an added understanding of what a symphony orchestra concert is all about, and I certainly wouldn’t turn down the chance to go again for free.
So, a mild-mannered classical nerd walks into a sea of metalheads…and thoroughly enjoys himself. Kinda. Comment editor J.P. ANTONACCI lived to tell the tale.
I must state at the outset that while I’m a pretty open-minded guy when it comes to music, I look like the furthest thing from a metalhead that you could imagine. And in my case, appearances don’t lie. I only headbang when I forget to duck under a door frame, and my connection to heavy metal is a belated knowledge of Metallica and a vague memory of Pantera being big when I was in grade school.
I had most decidedly never heard of “melodic death metal,” at least not until Sports editor Matt Somers suggested we take in the February 21 In Flames show as part of our musical exchange project. I had taken Matt to the TSO the week before, and he told me that these veteran Swedish rockers were the metal equivalents of symphony-class performers.
Most people were shocked when I gleefully told them of my Reading Week adventure in the days following the show. “And you survived?” was the standard reaction. Though I laughed off their disbelief, going into the evening I too was unsure that I could make it out of a metal show unscathed.
Once we had decided on the show, we had to get the tickets. Matt and another friend, both longtime fans, had theirs already, but the In Flames publicists didn’t come through with a coveted press pass for yours truly. It was time for another first: I was to scalp a ticket-and hope that my lack of a receipt wouldn’t be a problem for my Varsity expense claim.
Tickets cost about thirty bucks, but when we arrived at the Kool Haus (at 6 p.m., mind) scalpers were asking a cool hundred, with some wiggle room down to 70. Our prospects looked dim.
Leaving my two compatriots, I walked up Bay Street hoping to catch a break. Lo and behold, I found a lone scalper hawking Cirque du Soleil tickets near the ACC. After some Blue Jays chatter and an explanation of my price range, this generous salesman pulled out his cell phone, and two minutes later a dark sedan pulled up beside us. After a quick chat with the driver, my scalper friend came through with a ticket I could afford ($40!), and I gratefully beat it back to rejoin my group.
I arrived in time to catch the last opening act. Illicit ticket in hand and makeshift earplugs in place (who knew dinner napkins were so versatile?), I took a deep breath and followed some shaggy-haired, leather-clad gentlemen into the Kool Haus.
The noise was instantly overwhelming. Bands had been playing since 7 p.m., with each gradually increasing their volume level (a common concert trick, Matt told me) to whip up the crowd for the main act.
Walking from Union Station to the venue, Matt had said, “After this show, you’ll never listen to music the same way again,” and it didn’t take me long to hear what he meant.
We could feel the tension in the crowd as smoke filled the air and techies did the sound checks during the long break before the headliner. One heavily tattooed casualty of the mosh pit stumbled by and flashed us a crumpled grin as the lights at last dimmed.
In Flames is a veteran band, and their showmanship reflects their experience. They took the stage in darkness to a slow, hypnotic musical build that was shattered by a fierce strobe light. My first impression of the group was of this huge guy headbanging and wailing away on guitar, dreads flying, bathed in white light-an awesome entrance.
These huge, hairy Scandinavians had ’em from before the first note. The music picked up and didn’t let up, with lighting and dramatic darkness used to great effect. Training the lights on the audience-at lead singer Anders Fridén’s request-drew fans into the experience.
All in the crowd were rocking out, with some riding the human wave near the stage. I didn’t quite bring myself to headbang (the glasses, you know), but I was so tired after standing for hours that the body just took over and rocked in rhythm.
One letdown was the lack of musical originality-excluding the few songs with clear guitar riffs, many sounded alike and ended abruptly. No doubt my dissatisfaction was largely because this was my first time hearing the songs.
I was impressed, however, by Fridén’s ability to sustain his abrasive vocals for the entire set-as a singer myself, I know how much that forced shouting hurts your voice.
I normally wouldn’t listen to this music at all, for all the standard “snob” reasons: no real singing, just noise and screeching; little chordal movement; a lack of virtuosity, etc. And while I still don’t see myself running out to buy the CD, I left the show with a better appreciation of what makes this genre tick.
Surprisingly, it was in one way a less intense concert experience than expected. I was ready for snarling fans that would jump all over those not seen as “authentic” (like me, decked out in my red hoodie and faded jeans) metalheads. But these were normal folk who on the whole seemed like nice people, making room on the floor and apologizing for knocking into each other, just like at any other show.
Metal somewhat lives up to its stereotypes. The crowd of young men was decked out with the band tees, crazy lids, and piercings that you find on the standard headbanger in every teen drama. But to my surprise, there were a significant number of girls and adults in the audience, though still almost the whole crowd was white.
Both bands had a lot more interaction with the crowd than I expected. I thought metal groups would be too cool for that “Hello, Toronto!” stuff, but here was Fridén exhorting the crowd to be louder than the one in Quebec City and pumping his fist in response to the sea of “rock on” salutes that replaced applause at the end of each song.
This experience of worshipping at the altar of death metal was in the end a really tiring musical experience. I was ready for an assault on the ears, eyes, and sensibilities, but a metal love-in was not what I expected. I’d do it again-after my ears stop ringing.
