NXNE

I have had a tendency from time to time to complain about my job. Most people do it, right? We’re all underpaid and overworked and don’t get the respect we deserve, yadda yadda. But for all of my complaining, I do get to enjoy some pretty nifty perks. Such as, for example, my Priority Pass to the North by Northeast (NXNE) festival. It’s no SXSW, but it’s what we’ve got.

A Priority Pass is just fancy talk for a pass that let me skip the lineups, but it did get me into all of the gigs I wanted, and it just kinda looks fancy. I am all about looking fancy.

I would like to say that I was awarded this pass because I am a highly honoured and respected member of the radio station for which I work, but the truth is there was only one pass and I was the only person who was both interested in NXNE and flying solo this weekend, as my partner left town for the week. Thank you, Michelle, for going to New York without me. No, really! My weekend of bachelorhood was every bit as much fun as I imagine I would have had had I joined you.

So the first place I went to was the Dakota Tavern, a little basement country and blues bar that I have never seen before. I missed the first band, but the second one, First Rate People, really was first rate–boppy and fun, with a nice mix of male and female vocals. The girl on drums was really banging it out.

Then there was some really loud band from Alberta called Ghostkeeper, and they looked like Alberta, complete with farmer caps and hipster beards. The lead singer was hot, though. He was Métis and said he was putting the “Indian” in Indie rock. They also had a female drummer. I thought maybe this was a female drummer night, but the first band was comprised only of men, so I guess it was just a coincidence. This drummer also sang some of the songs, but here is the problem with coed singing bands at small music festivals: the sound checks are all done by the guys and the bass levels are so high that you can barely hear the women’s voices. So I didn’t really like Ghostkeeper much. They weren’t horrible, but their MySpace page sounds nicer than they do live in a tiny bar. Let me be old for a moment: they were too loud.

Then came the band I was waiting to see, The Pack A.D., comprised of drummer Maya Miller and guitarist/singer Becky Black. These chicks really rock out. Seriously, I had such an awesome time, I was losing my shit. I found myself dancing and cheering like a tween fangirl. I think I may have swooned. Day 1: success!

Day 2 was significantly less thrilling. I went to the Velvet Underground, a once-popular and now kind of divey goth bar. Who knew goth bars could still fly in Toronto? The first two bands were regrettable.

The lead singer of The Scarlet Fever wished really hard that he could have been some sort of cross between David Bowie and Siouxsie Sioux. I thought he was a girl until he stopped singing and began to speak in a faux-Brit accent (he’s from Toronto). He liked to drape himself over the speakers in his leather corset and feathers, looking dramatically heavenward, before leaping into the near-empty dance floor to fondle the faces of the two or three women who stood listening to him there. His singing was atrocious but he was nonetheless entertaining in a wholly unintentional way. I laughed out loud, but genuinely enjoyed the floor show. Amazing.

From would-be Siouxsie Bowie, the show continued with the Wannabe-Henry-Rollins-Band, a.k.a. The Torrent. Let me share with you a sample of their lyrics:

There’s a taste in my mouth and it tastes like you.
There’s a taste in my mouth and it tastes like you.
There’s a taste in my mouth and it tastes like you.
I wanna spit it out and find someone new.
What’s new, pussycat?

No joke. I think that pretty much says it all. Thank goodness there was a city-wide power outage in the middle of their set.

The power came back on, and finally it was time for the act I had come to see: People You Know. One of the former interns at my radio station is the drummer. Apparently hot chick drummers have really been a theme of my NXNE experience this year. Anyway, these girls really made the night worthwhile. The lead singer/guitarist, Aimee Bessada, and the bassist, Devon Clarke, have some serious rockstar moves—I think they practice in the mirror. They really use the medium; they roll and jump all over the stage, and they splay themselves over the speakers. They really have invested some time in cultivating a stage presence. Totally entertaining. I had a great time.

At the end of the show, they gave me a free demo—old school, just some little burned disc with the band name scrawled on it with a Sharpie. It’s the 2000s version of a mixtape. There are only three songs on it, but they are three solid songs. I look forward to a real release from these girls.

I deliberated over what to do Saturday, whether I should check out some more indie bands or go to Dundas Square to see Iggy and the Stooges play before they finally wasted away. I do love Iggy Pop, but I thought maybe he might better be left to my imagination. I remembered how I had longed to see Bowie my entire life, and then I finally got the chance to do so about five or six years ago and he was a great disappointment. In the end, however, I decided to risk it and headed down to the square with a couple of friends.

What a bad idea! The square was open and free to the public, with no set capacity, so the place ended up getting so crowded that my friends and I had to get the fuck out of the sardine tin. There were douchebags all around, guys ripping their shirts off and drinking Jack Daniels out of–get this–a can. Who knew that even existed? It would be one thing if this were a mosh pit full of punks, but most of the people around us had never actually heard of Iggy Pop.

I did get to see the Raveonettes, whose feedback addiction actually sounds much better in a live, outdoor setting. However, their stage show was incredibly boring. I really find it annoying when a band has a whole entire stage but they just stand there and play their instruments without so much as a bob of the head. Take a lesson from People You Know, folks!

I also survived the suffocating crowd long enough to see old Iggy rock out to “Raw Power” before violence breaking out right in front of us forced us to get the fuck out of dodge before we got trampled. Getting out of the crowd was almost as difficult as it would have been to try to get in. Iggy was still full of energy and looking really awesome, when I could peek at him through the ever-thickening crowd of taller people than I. He was pretty funny, too. He said, “We are what remains of the Stooges. And you get to see us before we die!” I was happy he said that because then I didn’t feel so bad about having thought the same thing all day.

Let me tell you, I practically grew up in a mosh pit, but this was insane. First, it was clear that most of the people crowding the stage weren’t even into punk, or Iggy Pop, for that matter. They didn’t recognize the music or even seem to be enjoying themselves. What they were doing was acting the way I guess they thought one should act at a punk concert: drinking too much and starting fights. It was a real disappointment.

When finally we made it back to the thinner area at the back of the square, we saw the real punks, not fighting, just slam-dancing and having a grand old time even though there was nothing you could see from back there. Having bruised ourselves enough for one night, we all decided to head back to my friend’s place a few blocks away and drink beer on the balcony. Which was more fun than watching Iggy Pop.

All in all, though, I had a great time at NXNE this year. I got to see some new bands, appreciate some old ones I already liked, and even got a bunch of free swag—and bruises—out of the weekend. I do love free stuff.

Let’s see, we’ve got a couple of CDs, a download card for some music site, a foldable pocket map of Toronto, some earbuds, 3D glasses, the swag bag itself, which is pretty nifty looking, some ear plugs, stickers that I can put on my seldom-used-anymore guitar case, a button, a CN Tower coupon, a guitar pick that says “Rock Shrink” (my dream job…or possibly nightmare job), some bathroom reading, and a gift certificate of some sort to a sticker/t-shirt/paraphernalia store I would probably really love if I were a rockstar.

I would say I made out like a bandit. Not a bad way to spend a bachelor’s weekend in Toronto.