Yesterday was a gong show. It ended nicely, but getting there was a bit of a grind. I was stricken with terminal overambition and am paying for it today.
I started off all gung ho and ready to see Spiral Beach at Saint Matt's. I saw these guys once opening a few years back for the Hidden Cameras when Stage Nine was still Stage Nine. They were punk music for Dracula and they all looked about twelve.They stole my heart and ate it for breakfast. After dressing in a medium-slutty monochromatic outfit I called a cab. Waited and waited. Finally I decided it was a better idea to walk to St. Matt's from my house. So off I went. It was cold. I started running.
I arrived, damp and wheezy, to see Spiral Beach in the midst of their final song. I tore open my purse to get my camera, breaking off the snap in the process and spilling embarrassing purse items (crusty lipstick, a toothbrush, etc) all over a pew. I ran to the front and started photographing their beautiful keyboard-screamer Maddy. After two shitty photos my camera died. Then the set was over. They were fantastic. All those minor key chords and howls sounded great in a church. I would love them to play my funeral. Since my stupid camera died, I will use a photo of an alien cat to represent their performance.
Then The Meligrove Band came on. I like these guys a lot; they hail from the same Ontario mega-suburb as I do, they work really hard, and their songs are really fun. Something about their set seemed really strained, though, and I'm not sure what it was all about. I think I prefer them in the bar. Their set is represented by a sad dog, wrapped in a blanket:
I then stumbled around downtown for awhile looking for a taxi to take me home so I could "start the evening over." After twenty minutes of respite I headed over to Gus' to check out The Gideons, who I realize most of you have seen probably a million times. They had a ridiculously short time to do a set of six or seven songs and they performed gamely, clustered on the stage in their turtlenecks and leather jackets, throwing balloons and silly string at people. I am sort of in love with all of them now, which makes me feel like a pervert. They were opening for some big-time bands like Statues and Horses and didn't seem nervous or fazed, which was great. Also, one of the guitarists looks EXACTLY like Bud Cort in Harold and Maude, which just about killed me.Don't believe it? Check this out:
Here's the real Bud:
And here's the guitarist, skillfully picked out for you by Photoshop:
Anyway, I pounded my two fists of beer and darted out again, after gushing about the previous night's Monotonix show to Peter the bartender, who missed it, and was mad. Too bad for you, old man!
Then I called another cab (cursing the flat tires on my bicycle the entire time) and waited for awhile, and watched Malcolm Bauld through the window, shaking slightly in the cold. They are from Toronto and seem very dirty, in a good way. On the way back downtown, I had this exchange with the taxi driver:
Driver: There were some shows at the pub tonight?Me: Yeah, some bands......(trailing off due to exhaustion)Driver: Anyone I would know?Me: Maybe. The Gideons....uh....The Stance....Driver: What are those?Me: Bands.(brief pause)Driver: There is a big show at Metro Centre tonight---a really big one.Me: Really? I don't think so.Driver: Yes. It is something big. Neil Diamond maybe? Someone like that?Me: I don't know anything.Driver: Neil Diamond was a big deal when I was young.Me: Really?
More exhausted chronicles to come, including a band featuring a guy whose name rhymes with Vat and a girl whose name rhymes with Vera, a lack of bands with expletives in their names, and the best punk show I've seen since Jay Reatard, which doesn't say much considering that he played three days ago, but I say it with heart. Xoxo.
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