For many rock singers, vocal lessons seem to herald the
approach of impending wankerdom. Case in point: Raine Maida takes vocal
lessons. Sebastian Bach does too, no doubt while tossing his blonde
mane as his reality-TV bride stands astride the piano.

So when someone like Bry Webb admits he’ll be starting his
first-ever vocal lesson in an hour, it gives one pause. Webb is the
voice of the Constantines—and for many of the band’s fans, his raw,
raspy, beautifully undisciplined roar is the band’s most identifiable
trait. During an interview from his home in Montreal, however, Webb
says he’s using them for a utilitarian purpose.

“I’ve always been afraid of learning to sing properly,” he says.
“I’m hoping she can teach me how to save my voice when I’m on the road.
I’ve had trouble without exception. I used to lose my voice after five
shows and be in pain for the rest of the tour.”

After nearly 10 years together, adulthood is approaching the
Constantines, and Webb’s voice lessons are only part of the transition.
After years spent near each other in Guelph and then Toronto, the
Constantines split—in a geographic sense—about three years ago.
Webb now lives “a nice, quiet life on a nice, quiet street” in
Montreal’s Plateau with his wife (guitarist Steve Lambke also lives in
the city). “Don’t get me wrong—I like being on tour, playing live
music, having crazy adventures,” says Webb. “And then I like coming
home and having mellower adventures here.”

When tours approach, like this upcoming cross-country jaunt with The
Weakerthans, Webb will travel to Toronto with Lambke and rejoin the
rest of the band in their Kensington Market practice space to tighten
their set. They will then embark on another cross-country tour, heading
west as they do nearly every year, leaving in winter and returning home
in spring. It’s hard to gauge how many times the Constantines have made
this trip, whether together or separately. This could be the second
time they’ve travelled cross-country with The Weakerthans, or maybe
third. Of course, some things have changed. This time in Halifax, the
band won’t be playing their usual gig in the Marquee, since it no
longer exists. Instead, they’ll take the stage in the slightly more
incongruous Palace. Webb is diplomatic about it.

“I understand that dance bars need to exist, to survive,” he says.
“That’s where the money is coming from. To me a city is defined by its
social culture, and obviously pickup bars are part of that culture, but
a big part of that is the music and performance venues, too.”

Webb’s sympathy perhaps lies in the fact that the Constantines
famously cut their teeth playing sweaty, transcendent sets at house
parties in Guelph and later in the grimy, cramped space at the
now-defunct Ted’s Wrecking Yard in Toronto. Nowadays, they’ve opened
for the Tragically Hip and the Foo Fighters in stadiums and hockey
arenas. For Webb, it’s an alienating contrast.

“I really believe music is a social art,” he says. “When a band
starts playing in giant stadiums, it starts to separate the band from
the audience completely, because they have to be bigger than life.
There’s a 10- to 20-foot gap between the front row and the stage.
There’s lights and giant screens everywhere. I don’t get as much out of
it as when the stage is a foot high and people are vomiting on the
monitors.”

There’s something comforting in knowing that the Constantines have
maintained their affinity for small, dirty shows and still value the
importance of touring over press kits. Webb says his inner optimist
hopes that the spate of venue closures will lead to a DIY
resurgence—with touring bands playing more often in art galleries,
rental halls and living rooms—as much for his own peace of mind as
anyone else’s.

“I need it,” he says. “I’m a terribly socially awkward person. I
need my entire evening scripted out on a stage. I know the songs, and I
know what my position is, which is more than I can say for most times
when I leave the house.”

The Constantines and the Weakerthans. Friday, March
20 at the Palace, 1721 Brunswick, 8pm, $25 adv/$30, 1-888-311-9090,
ticketpro.ca.

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