Pop Montreal Day Four: Islands Debut New Songs

ChartAttack reporter Erik Leijon hit the clubs for the annual Pop Montreal festival. Here's his report from Saturday:

10:45 p.m.:
I started late today, which is a shame since I really wanted to catch the Zoobombs at Divan Orange at 3 p.m., but I couldn't be bothered to put on pants until sundown.

11 p.m.:
I arrive at Cabaret Du Musee Juste just in time for Islands to start their set. It's an important one since it's their first in a year and first with a reshuffled lineup. J'aime Tambeur and Jim Guthrie are out. New, younger people are in. Hopefully this goes better than the shell of the Smashing Pumpkins that dropped a huge turd on the Osheaga stage last month.

11:20 p.m.:
Four songs in and it's all new material. Nick Diamonds (or whatever he's calling himself now) explains that he hates Return To The Sea and will play mostly new stuff. His first oldie of the night is "Don't Call Me Whitney, Bobby." It's still a good song, but the new material isn't nearly as kitschy and overly cute. It also features tenor sax on a few songs.

11:45 p.m.:
Diamonds gives an extended sermon on how much he hates "Rough Gem." He says he'll officially retire the song tonight with the help of his good buddy, Antony from Antony And The Johnsons. It's actually the drummer, who gives a really funny impression (in costume) of the overly emotive and fragile singer.

11:55 p.m.:
Islands perform "Where There's A Will There's A Whalebone," which is usually not newsworthy, but this time Busdriver, Cadence Weapon and three other rappers I couldn't identify by sight each deliver a verse. Cadence Weapon blows everyone away with his rapid-fire delivery and, frankly, deserves more accolades than he usually gets.

12:05 a.m.:
"Swans" starts playing, and I could either spend the next nine-and-a-half minutes here or I could run to the Portuguese Association to catch Dears guitarist Patrick Krief. I'm not sure how I managed to walk there from in under 20 minutes, but I arrive only slightly out of breath. It's a free showcase for the Good Fences label, with Jade McNelis and a surprise headliner also on the bill.

12:25 a.m.:
The Portuguese Association is truly an awful venue. It's a cross between the fire-hazard Capital Music Hall in Ottawa and a church basement. Krief and Dears bandmate George Donoso are deadly. Krief doesn't mind flying over the edge during an extended guitar solo, and hopefully he releases an album soon that reflects this new, classic rock quartet (the current EP is an acoustic, one-man affair).

12:55 a.m.:
Krief finishes his set and I decide to march off the beaten path. There's a reggae show at Centre Gallego, and it's not often I check out a genuine reggae performance.

1:05 a.m.:
Mikey Dangerous is winding down his set of dancehall. Sadly, he's playing in front of about two dozen people (including his own entourage and the ticket stub guy), but it doesn't seem to affect his enthusiasm. The few ladies who are in attendance seem to have no qualms about gyrating in a near-empty dancehall normally reserved for flamenco dancing, so who am I to argue?

1:15 a.m.:
Kali & Dub Inc. take the stage. Hayes "Kali" Thurton is a commanding presence on lead guitar and vocals. The veteran of the reggae scene shifts from hard punk guitar to smooth, Caribbean rhythms. The crowd doesn't get any larger, but two guys next to me rolled and smoked a few joints outside in between sets, so the aroma and vibe is officially perfect for old-fashioned reggae (as opposed to Dangerous' dancehall style).

1:45 a.m.:
Kali & Dub Inc. play a slightly contrived but highly effective reggae cover of "My Girl." It's an enjoyable set, but there's a solid punk show at Lambi starting at 2 a.m. and I have a compelling desire to pick a fight.

2:05 a.m.:
Lo and behold, I nearly get into a fight, as the lummox guarding the entrance to Nashvillean Jay Reatard's show gives me a few choice words about my media pass (no word on his overall opinion of this website). Reatard is a punk artist in more of the new wave, Buzzcocks style, with major emphasis on the percussion. The bouncer gives me an ultimatum: either pay him directly to get in or get my hunger for propulsive drumbeats elsewhere. Right before I'm about to beat him upside the head (with an argument concerning freedom of the press), two more guards reiterate his point. Some bespectacled individual who sat idly by while yet another journalist had his rights curtailed brags to me about how he got to the show early and got a stamp. I don't forget faces, mister cleft eyebrows.

2:30 a.m.:
Reatard's loss is my gain, as Joseph Arthur is the secret headliner at the Good Fences showcase, which is conveniently starting right now. I run back to the Portuguese Association (and not from those three cowardly bouncers) to find he has yet to take the stage.

2:35 a.m.:
Although I'm not the biggest Arthur fan, any show at 3 a.m. is magical for obvious reasons. In front of 30 insomniacs, including Krief and McNelis, the singer/songwriter strums his guitar and messes around with his looping kit. He jokes that he woke up early and consumed raw eggs before the show, but as unfocused as his banter is, his performance is truly revelatory. It's like watching him perform around a campfire under the stars. The symbolic quiet of the night around us only magnifies the genuine expression in his voice.

3:15 a.m.:
There's a spandex-wearing young woman doing interpretive dancing upstairs who catches Arthur's eye, so he invites her on stage. Her moves are a dead ringer for Kate Bush's in the classic "Wuthering Heights" video. It would be a YouTube moment if anyone actually recorded it, which is a statement I seem to say less and less about live events.

3:30 a.m.:
The wine and popcorn seems to be finished (the Portuguese Association has a unique bar), and everyone exits the venue to find Saint-Urbain Street cold and deserted. It was just another of those Pop Montreal moments, where a show ending at 3:30 in the morning is considered the norm.

For those who've been unable to attend any of the six Pop Montreal festivals, remember this nugget of wisdom: Pop Montreal isn't about catching your favourite bands, or even watching bands you know. The true gift the event brings to the city is the ability to traverse the vast landscape of the local music scene and the city at large in a highly concentrated five evenings. In the end, 333 bands performed, often in front of meager audiences in decrepit venues, so no matter how informative a synopsis of the week is, it only scratches the surface.