Pop Montreal Day Two: Sweet Sounds And Superstar DJs

Friday, September 27
Thank God it's Friday? It's pouring rain, so there's no way the Sadies/Breastfeeders BBQ out at the University of Montreal is happening (although I hear later that The Sadies actually played, but it was ix-nay on the rill-gay). Add to this the upsetting news I've just received from Toronto mod DJ Davy Love, who I had booked for my Pop Montreal loft party tonight. He's not coming. Apparently, his friend with the funds and the wheels bailed on him, so he's bailed on me. However, the mutton-chopped mister was nice enough to contact a replacement, Adam Gorley, a three-year co-DJ at Love's Blow Up night who's recently moved to Montreal.

After this relief, a lengthy phone interview with Andrew WK for another publication gets me psyched and, as you would imagine, ready to party. After meeting Gorley to provide the festival passes he and his girlfriend need to gain access to the Dears/Stars show, I head up to Cabaret for country-rock cover act The Sonny Best Band, the first of two openers for Neko Case. Another of my HMV co-workers, Angela Desveaux (a.k.a. Lily Pearl), is one of the band's four singer-guitarists and she eases into the set like a pro, eventually singing a rocking lead on Gary Glitter-via-Joan Jett's "Do You Wanna Touch Me."

Excellent electric country guitar, fit fiddle and three-and-foursome harmonies draw the crowd in for songs by everyone from Willie Nelson to Michael Jackson. Even those who turn up their noses at any trace of the country music or the kitschy gimmick — which, I assure you, this is not — can see that this is a tight band and a great show.

But I have to leave before the end to check out another friend up at the Jupiter Room. Montag (a.k.a Antoine Bedard) releases his debut album Are You A Friend? today (Oct. 1) and it's a sweetly organic, electronic affair. He sits in the corner of the stage, surrounded by equipment, occasionally pulling out percussive devices and a violin when the time is right. Falling back on banter when random, harsh static plagues the first couple of tracks — this is a rock bar, after all — he gets the sound problems solved before too long, settling back into the gentle, laptop-tech-meets-Broadcast soundscapes.

Next, I rush down to the loft, which is on St-Laurent, as all my destinations have been tonight, only to discover that the front door is locked. A friendly tenant lets me in and we take the elevator up to the ninth floor — later, when the night hits its peak around 2 a.m., this elevator will break down, possibly with people in it (I almost don't want to confirm this). A surprising number of determined party people take the stairs anyway. While The Datsons and The Walkmen rock Petit Campus, The Dears and Stars emote at the reportedly beautiful, newly renovated Rialto Theatre, and Miss Case croons to Cabaret (late, due to a broke down van), I DJ for an hour to about 10 people, mostly regular peeps from my recently terminated club nights (rock on, you guys!).

My DJ partner, DJ Radiowhore takes over at 12:30 p.m., Gorley about an hour and a half later. By this point, the room is packed with bands and "punters" getting out of their shows and Gorley's soul, mod and Motown gets asses-a-shaking. Since this is the first major party I've organized, outside of semi-regular club gigs, I'm too nervous to drink so I give most of my drink tickets to my boyfriend Rupert Bottenberg, the music editor for local weekly rag the Mirror. Speaking of Andrew WK, poor Rupert parties 'til he pukes, but more (or less) on that tomorrow. Coming from his regular gig up at Saphir, the always amicable, flamboyant DJ and One976 singer Plastik Patrik starts spinning around quarter to three. I feel pretty bad that he had to walk up nine flights in heels, carrying a DJ's big bag of tricks. But he likes a good workout, so he pays no mind and swiftly starts spinning some trashy rock 'n' roll and electro tunes, keeping the increasingly drunk dancers on their toes.

In the crowd now are The Dears, The Datsons, half of Marlowe, Chart's own Aaron Brophy, about 100 people I don't know and exhausted but happy festival organizers Dan Seligman, Noelle Sorbara and Peter Rowan. In fact, they're so pleased with the party that they start kissing and hugging me — which weirds me out a bit. You know, protestant repression and all. So, after I DJ for another hour, we pack up and head home at 5:30 a.m. In less than 12 hours, Rupert has to DJ at an industry party and I have to be there for an early start to the evening. Stay tuned for more dirt on day three.