NXNE Roving Report Day Two: Nymphets And Dinosaurs

06/16/08 5:00pm

by Matt Littlefair (CHARTattack)

I'm working on almost no sleep at this point and I'm three sugar-free Red Bulls deep. I have no idea why, but the sugar-free version of Red Bull seems to taste far better than the more naturally sweetened version and, at this point, anything cold and designed to keep me alert is going down like ambrosia.

Having gotten over a lot of last night's home-purchase anxiety, or at the very least, being a bit too wiped to think about it, music and fun were my main focus despite the fact it rained by the pail-full in Toronto on Friday night. I know you can't logically blame anyone for the weather, so I'm going to illogically blame dinosaurs, because what have dinosaurs ever done for me? Because of them I had to sit through two shit-tastic sequels to Jurassic Park. THANKS FOR NOTHING, DINOSAURS. Anyway...

I jumped at the chance to kick off the night by seeing The Nymphets again at the Bovine Sex Club. Hell, I'd pay to see these guys play in an alley by a dumpster any day of the week, let alone free at a club. I was blown away by the Montreal trio's set at last year's NXNE at Comfort Zone. This year's edition proved to be even stronger, as the gritty garage punk outfit peeled all those rusty chunks of shit off the Bovine walls in a flourish of guitars and grit. My faith was reaffirmed, as the club was nearly full at only 9 p.m.

I wanted to wash down my garage rock with something campy and less genuine, so next was Semi Precious Weapons at Velvet Underground. The New York glam revivalists had played a set on Thursday night and a colleague had urged me to catch 'em. I figured if nothing else, a ridiculous spectacle of glitter, glitz and platform boots would make the trip worthwhile.

I arrived at the Velvet around 9:45 p.m. and suddenly that old adage of "be careful what you wish for" seemed alarmingly prescient. Toronto-based The State Of Things had just taken the stage, a full 45 minutes late. I got a spectacle, but not the one I'd hoped for. My finely honed schedule of club-hopping was left tattered and bloodied in a sea of open shirts, one starred silk scarf and heaps of emoting and rock mugging. The State Of Things are kinda crappy. It was absolutely glorious in its camp, but I don't think it was meant as camp, and it definitely wasn't the kind of thing I was looking for.

I gave up partway through the set and braved the fist-sized droplets of rain and made a beeline back to the Bovine, where I stumbled into a raging metal punk explosion from Montreal-based quintet Trigger Effect. Their shirtless and sweat-soaked show had the crowd by the balls. It was a mayhem-drenched free-for-all, and it fucking rocked.

I fired off towards The Drake, safely transported in a wonderfully dry streetcar, all in hopes of catching Ten Kens. The Toronto-based quartet started off strongly enough, though it's worth noting their aesthetic seems to draw on every 20-something cliche known to man. It was like an indie version of Saved By The Bell: The College Years. Musically, the group started out strong with shattering bouts of post-rock for the first 10 minutes. Unfortunately, this was followed by meandering miasmas of distorted guitar and repetitive vocals. The band's inconsistency started to gnaw at me so I bolted for The Reverb and the always fantastic Meligrove Band.

The Mississauga, Ont. quartet, at times bolstered by a pair of horn players, didn't disappoint. The band showed off some new material, were tight and in top form, and were definitely a high point of the evening.

I had to abort an attempt to catch the latter half of The Real McKenzies set at the Bovine because the place was so packed. It wasn't a complete wash though, as it afforded me a chance to walk by George Stroumboulopoulos in all his patch-of-chin-haired glory. Having failed at the Bovine, I decided to move the party up to College and Spadina to The Silver Dollar, where I could meet some friends and have a seat and hopefully a couple of beers.

While waiting in the unrelenting rain for a bus heading north on Spadina, the strains of an absolutely horrendous cover of "(What's The Story?) Morning Glory" wafted from the open window of a nearby loft. It might've been a shiteous take on a great song, but my god they were drunkenly trying, and I couldn't have imagined a better happenstance to fit the situation.

When I finally arrived at The Silver Dollar, I was immediately met with a blast of putrid humidity, which mingled nicely with my damp T-shirt, jeans and shoes. I sound like a fucking miser right now, but I had, for the most part, enjoyed even the complete misses of the evening.

Next on the docket were Toronto's The Diableros. They're a rock-solid crew that blend melt-in-your-ears and not-in-your-face guitars, dripping in reverb and insistent melodies. It's a great package that played well for their quick-shot set.

With another evening coming to a close, I stopped at the Spadina and College 7-Eleven on my way home for "keep me up" supplies. Since I've drained the last Red Bull in the fridge and there aren't any Starbucks' open within walking distance of my apartment, I think it's time to pack it in.