Not to be confused with the band Of Montreal, which I have heard some people, somewhere, might enjoy.
This was a showcase of three Quebecois bands at the Roxy, back on April 3rd. I am remiss for not writing about it earlier.
I am remiss because it was amazing. When I won the tickets from Goldenvoice, I thought it might, perhaps, be a reasonable evening of amusing entertainment. Instead it was mind blowing, starting with this band, Patrick Watson:
This band was beautiful and intense. And they were making some lovely weird noise. The guitarist, here, started playing his guitar with a balloon, creating these haunting, mournful, strange sounds that strike you like a shimmering ghost.
Oh, what a lovely camera phone photo this was back in 2007
But the highlight of the band’s performance was the ending, when the band put down their plugged in instruments and mics, and came down to serenade our sparse crowd with their song Man Under the Sea. The drummer had this toy drum kit he could carry with one hand; he hopped down from the stage and into the middle of the audience. The guitarist grabbed an acoustic, and Patrick Watson cupped his hands over his mouth and sang to us acapella. The three of them walked through the crowd, performing the song, never missing a beat or a note; it was mindblowingly beautiful, and the focused intensity of it still amazes me right now. I could have taken pics or video with my fancy new phone. I thought about it briefly; even as they begun, I thought, this should be documented. But I didn’t want to. It was too much for any form of mediation. You can’t receive communion through a television set. You need to see them do it—if it can ever be repeated—with your own eyes, and listen with your own ears.
Patrick Watson left the stage with our hearts.
Ten minutes later, these guys came and kicked us in the balls.
Les Breastfeeders. Yes, Les Breastfeeders. Think early Hives, but with French Canadian lyrics. The guitarist there on the left rocked in total Billy Zoom style: plant two feet and fucking wail. My pictures can’t do him justice. Cocky, charismatic lead singer front and center, no slouch on the axe himself.
Second singer, female, infectiously fun on Funny Funiculaire, the song which got me to the show in the first place.
I’d expected this poppy fun Francophone band, and what I got was a full frontal rock and roll assault. Totally awesome.
But is this not enough for you? This band even has a dancer:
Dude looks totally like Napoleon from the Bill and Ted movies. Dude dances like a maniac, never lets up for a minute, shaking a tambourine or maracas or his woolly chest, pouring everything he has into every song. Dude must have been sired by Iggy Pop.
Meanwhile, the band is plowing through the set list written on paper plates. Paper plates, you know, because they can’t stop rocking like granite boulders long enough to scrounge up some paper.
Totally amazing. Totally amazing. One night, swinging through both ends of the emotional spectrum. These bands are living, breathing arguments for secession. They’re certainly blowing away anything coming from their Vancouver counterparts.
These bands are far away and gone now, and who knows when they’ll return? But I am alive, and I was there at M is for Montreal.
