So in addition to granting me admission to the seminars and awards ceremonies of Canadian Music Week, my very own delegate’s pass also gave me line-bypass status to all of the gigs and concerts that make up the accompanying Canadian Music Festival. I was almost as stoked for this pass as I was for the Crystal Awards. As you may recall from my foray to NXNE last summer, I do enjoy a free passport into all of the music events I can handle.

And man oh man, was there a lot going on in Toronto last week. Sammy Hagar was here, Melissa Etheridge, Janet Jackson…it was out of the park. Of course, I wasn’t interested in any of those people. I was interested in one name : JD Samson.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The Little Queer Station That Could kicked off Canadian Music Week with a queer showcase at the Gladstone. I was a bit late, so I missed out on Kevin Wong, although I heard he put on a fantastic show.

I did make it in time to catch Chris Velan, and I was thankful I did. If you like indie folk rock in the vein of Wilco, Ryan Adams, or Sufjan Stevens, you’re gonna dig this guy. I was really into him.

It was a bit odd that Creature was the act to follow; their music really didn’t fit into the more acoustic indie sound of some of the other bands of the night. But who am I kidding? I didn’t care—they were the band I came out to see. And they were well worth it. They have just enough sass and attitude on stage to keep things entertaining without becoming a stereotype of queer camp. So much fun! I think I danced three inches of my ass off. I would have danced the entire ass off, but they had just the one-hour set, and I had to save some of it for JD Samson. But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
Brigitte Bardot

I was going to have to get up early the next morning for those Crystal Awards, so I just couldn’t stay for Gentleman Reg. I have seen him numerous times before; he’s kind of that indie-guy-about-town—he’s everywhere. And for good reason. As my buddy Acey Rowe said about it, “If you haven’t seen Gentlemen Reg live, chances are you’re not a real Torontonian. Kind of like if you haven’t killed a cockroach with your bare hand or had a heart attack at Yonge and Dundas induced by the ‘BELIEVE IN THE LORD!’ guy… Seeing a Gentlemen Reg show is the best and most enjoyable way to confirm your Torontonian status.”

The next day, of course, I won that Crystal Award—you know, no big whoop—so I spent the rest of the day celebrating with my co-winner, other staff from our radio group, and pretty much anyone who would raise a toast with me, and consequently I didn’t actually make it out to any gigs. Oops.

And after all of that celebrating, I had to get up even earlier on Friday morning for the Trailblazers’ Breakfast, celebrating women in radio. It took about everything I had to put on my best networking face and schmooze with some very intelligent women in the business. I was pretty much dead set on going home after work and skipping out on the gigs I had planned to see that night. They were with bands I had never heard of before, and as much as I like to discover new music, I like catching up on my sleep even more.

But then that thing happened. You know the thing where a friend updates Facebook with plans to see a gig you hadn’t been aware was going to be going on, and it’s a band you checked out for the first time at last year’s NXNE and you really loved them and no amount of hungover sleep-deprivation is going to stop you from seeing them again? That thing.

In this case the band in question was The Pack A.D.—Vancouver’s dykey answer to the White Stripes and the Black Keys. As soon as we heard they were playing, Michelle and I switched gears from tired and lazy to awesome and fantastic and excited. We got our gear on and headed down to meet some friends at the Bovine, a Queen Street institution that has been around for about 20 years now. Its façade is decorated with a mass of rusted bicycles, hub caps, and various assorted yard tools in a bizarre sculpture. You can’t miss it.

Interesting as it is to look at, it’s a narrow and dank space inside, and it’s always inevitably filled with punk and metal boys, which can be a pain in the butt—literally. We managed to get to the front of the stage for The Pack, but we were so wedged in that I could practically feel the bulge of the fella behind me wedging itself into my…well, my behind. It wasn’t pleasant.

Nonetheless, the show was awesome. There wasn’t much room to dance, but I did my best to rock out. The hotness of Becky Black makes up for a lot of discomfort. We stuck around for their set and then headed out to other, roomier bars in which to find libations.
Cobra Matte

And Saturday was the day I had been looking forward to from the moment I looked at the CMW lineup. I have finally caught up with myself! Saturday was all about JD SAMSON. Specifically, MEN was going to be playing at Sneaky Dee’s. My love for JD stems from my love for Le Tigre, which itself stemmed from my love for Bikini Kill and Kathleen Hanna. There was a time in my life when I believed that Bikini Kill was the best band ever to have existed in history. That time was last week. It comes and goes, actually. From time to time I really need to scream out all of my feminist rage.

And at other times, I just really need to dance. Saturday was one of the latter times. Let me tell you, MEN provided everything I needed to do just that. Great beats, great energy, and great lyrics—the whole package. In fact, they even covered a Bikini Kill song! My brain would have exploded if I hadn’t been busy dancing the remaining inches of my ass off. It was fan-freaking-tastic!

After the show, I made my way up to the front, where JD was striking the stage in preparation for the next act. I screwed up all of my courage to squeak out that I worked in radio and would really like it if she would like to contact us whenever she was in town. She nodded, took my card, and said, “Thanks, I will.” I turned into a thirteen-year-old fangirl and *died*.
Off Our Backs

I pulled myself together and made my way over to El Mocambo, where Acey’s derby team was having a fundraising dance party. If there was anything left of my ass to dance off, I did so there. My friends arm-wrestled derby girls with varying levels of success, and we spent about four hours on that dance floor. It was the perfect way to cap off the festival.

I don’t know if it was because it was past four in the morning when I got home, if it was the beer I drank, or if it was the fact that I had danced parts of my body into oblivion, but on my way back to my humble abode at last, I managed to fall up the stairs. What I can tell you about that is that it sure beats falling down.

It was time to call it a night, and you know, I’ll also call it one of the best weeks I have enjoyed in a good long time.

Last night my good friend and puppy, the famous and talented Chris Howson of Your Morning With Richard and Chris, took me as his plus-one to see the opening match of the Toronto Roller Derby. I brought my own plus-a-few-more, and it was a hopping party.

We actually had plans to meet up with a bunch of other people there, but two things happened: first, it started to snow. We had no idea it was coming; it had been sunny and relatively warm all day. A few days ago the news outlets were all abuzz with foretellings of a snowpocalypse that failed to transpire. I am convinced that they were so embarrassed by the experience that they decided simply not to mention this snow at all.

Anyway, so the streets were disgusting. One of my plus-a-few-mores had picked up a car from Autoshare, a nifty little service for those of us who don’t drive enough to warrant the parking and insurance fees. He and Chris picked us up from my place and we crawled through the treachery toward The Hangar at Downsview Park, a former military hangar now used as a multi-purpose recreational facility. And since the place is located practically at the North Pole, we felt like Acrtic explorers making our way through the messy storm.

We made it safely, however, and we weren’t the only ones. The place was packed. We received texts and emails from our friends, saying that they had been delayed by the storm and by the *coincidental track maintenance on the subway. Apparently some of our friends did see us there, but there were so many people around that when they called out for us, we didn’t hear or see them. There were more than a few moments when I would be walking with Chris or Michelle, turn around to look at something, and then turn again and find myself unable to see the person who had been next to me not three seconds before. It was that busy.

*Okay, let me just take a moment to bitch about the subway situation. Ever since Rob Ford took power as mayor of Toronto, he has proposed the most ludicrous cuts and changes to the TTC, making it clear that he has no concern for the people who actually live in this city, but only for those like himself who live in the suburbs and commute in by car. One of the proposed cuts is the bus that goes up to Downsview Park. This park not only holds one of the largest and most popular rec centres in the city, but also is home to multiple other facilities and services. It should not be accessible by car only. There has been a great deal of protest regarding the cuts to this particular bus line, and thus far it has not yet been closed. However, rather suspiciously, the subway line to Downsview Station, where one would catch the Downsview Park bus, is now undergoing track maintenance, all-too-coincidentally scheduled exactly on the nights when the Roller Derby games take place and the bus is most popular. A matter of scheduling convenience, or a deliberate attempt to drive down usage numbers to make the case for shutting down the bus line? I am leaning toward the latter. In sum: Rob Ford is THE DEVIL.

*ahem* Anyway, so yes. Storm and crowd led to group plan failure. Not to worry, though; between the four of us and the few friends we did manage to herd together, we had a good little cheering section. And as it happened, we were cheering for both teams. That’s my favourite way to watch sports.

In the season opener, the Death Track Dolls were taking on last year’s reigning champs, The Gore-Gore Rollergirls. I have been working on cultivating my acquaintance with the Dolls’ SlamWow into a friendship, so I was all about the Dolls, but Chris, who has been a big ToRD fan since he went to see a match last summer, has friends all over the league and a big girly crush on Gore-Gore blocker Santa Muerte. Of course, by about ten minutes into the game, I had a big girly crush on every last one of those girls.

Roller Girls

These are some serious athletes. It was pretty clear from the start why the Gores had taken the championship last year—within the first five jams they were dominating the game at 50 – 5 over the Dolls. They have this jammer, less-than-thrillingly named Bambi, who makes up for the lack of ferocity in her moniker by being incredibly deft and skilled on skates. She weaves through the pack like she’s just leisurely strolling through the aisles of the local No Frills, picking out her groceries, while everyone around her is sweating and swearing and bumping and wiping out. She’s un-freakin’-believable!

Sidenote: Bambi also plays bass for a local punk band, Spitfist. Good times.

But those Death Track Dolls weren’t going down without a fight, either. In one jam, the Dolls’ jammer Land Shark made about three laps and brought the score up ten points. It was at around this point that Michelle’s pants caught fire and disintegrated. I think she’s gonna leave me for a rollergirl.

There was some serious action going on, and aside from the fact that the concession folks didn’t seem to want to order more than two pizzas at a time to feed a hungry crowd of hundreds—I watched the last slice disappear into the hands of the person just in front of me in line twice before I was finally able to get my hands on a piece—it was an all-out bitchin’ time. Barring any future ill-reported snow storms, I will definitely be going back.

Oh, and Chris and I did manage to catch up with SlamWow, as well, who was looking exhaustedly happy, despite a defeat of 107 – 43.

What a great game—makes me want to strap on a brand new pair of rollerskates myself.

Brand-New-Key