NXNE Roving Report Day Three: A Rainn-y Evening

I tend to embrace the madness of NXNE pretty quickly. The chaotic lineups, the huddled masses of smokers outside every venue in between sets (normally outnumbering those inside by a fair margin), the random people walking up and shoving flyers into your hands promoting their band, the booze, the Red Bull, the sleepless nights and then the blissful, inevitable crash on Sunday afternoon when all of the above finally catches up with you. Ah, memories...

Situating myself at The Drake, my Saturday evening got off to a less-than-stellar start. After taking the stage a full half-hour late, Wyrd Visions' one-man double-necked guitar show was underwhelming. There's nothing wrong with the music per se, but I was in need of a good live wire jump-start to the night, and this just wasn't it. So I booked halfway through and headed north on foot to The Dakota Tavern.

I gulped down a refreshing adult beverage in two greedy swallows and steeled myself for something, anything. I'd come to see Dave Arcari on a hunch based solely on his NXNE bio. It was another solo affair, but this time instead of a demure, stoic performance, Glaswegian Arcari stomped and skulked all over the small Dakota stage while hammering out an infectious blend of delta blues, punk and garage rock. I'd found what I'd been looking for. In your face, Bono!

Given the weather and my budget, I figured it'd be prudent to stick with the heel toe express as I made my way to the El Mocambo. In all the hubbub over NXNE, the Taste Of Little Italy street festival had flown completely under my radar. Then, as I rounded the corner of College and Ossington, the crowd was like the iceberg coming at the Titanic, and I was the drunken captain barely at the helm (minus the intoxication, unfortunately). I didn't have a chance. But I was determined, and navigated that crowd and the inflatable children's attractions like a ninja flitting in and out of somewhere cool that a ninja has to flit in and out of, like a forest or something. Plus, I got some gelato. So you know, win-win.

An impressive crowd had assembled at the El Mo for the always impressive new wave garage rock quintet The Two Koreas. With guitarist Kieran Grant back in fighting shape, the Toronto-based band, who haven't taken the stage in six months, showed off a couple of new songs from their brand new vinyl and digital-only Sessions EP. I bought the excellent record after their set and right this very second am enjoying it immensely... nope, I lied. Side one just finished and now nothing is playing. Leave it to technology to make a liar out of me yet again.

I decided to hang around the El Mo for Montreal's The High Dials. Their aggressive but melodic indie pop is coloured with big, swirling, trippy guitar sustains, and it's pretty solid. The El Mo was proving to be a great spot to be on Saturday night.

Three songs into The Dials set, an exclamation point-laden text from close friend and Chart scribe Noah Love had me setting foot to pavement for a chance to meet or even just see the lippy convenience store cashier from Juno! None other than Rainn Wilson was in town to promote his new film Rocker, and he somehow ended up at The Silver Dollar. Though I didn't get a chance to drink or talk with Wilson, the proximity to Dwight K. Schrute provided a welcome distraction. To celebrate, I had another adult beverage. Thanks, Rainn Wilson!

As an added bonus, because of my hasty retreat from the El Mo I was able to see a good bit of Montreal's The Luyas at the Dollar. It wasn't earth-shattering, but their mildly spazzy vocals and quirky pop songs were textured and catchy enough to keep me from spending an inordinate amount of time wondering where Rainn Wilson had gotten his snazzy hat. Plus, I'm generally a fan of anything that multi-instrumentalist Pietro Amato's involved in.

I walked back to the El Mo and The High Dials were still going strong. This back and forth shit was starting to get ridiculous, which one incredulous NXNE staffer pointed out upon my return to the El Mo. I just smiled and pressed on. It felt better to walk than just stand still, as my feet were starting to reach their limit.

So it was back to the Dollar for Slim Twig. The Toronto-based quartet's spastic, post-garage-punk soup defies real description and, for some reason, the only adjective that comes to mind is "awesome." Twig's spasmodic guitar, caustic yelping and the disjointed melodies and rhythms came together in some highly improbable, but highly enjoyable, songs.

At this point in the evening, staying put was the name of the game. Besides, I was excited to see Sweden's Oholics. Having booked three consecutive nights at The Silver Dollar, the six-piece noise-rock outfit had thus far proven wildly divisive, especially amongst Chart staffers. I had to make up my mind for myself. It turned out that they kinda suck. Their songs were unimaginative and eventually mushed into one continuous drone, like an endless buffet of bland, unflavoured tofu. A funny side note: earlier in the evening, I was grabbing a drink and next to me this dude passed out twice while standing up at the bar. Not an hour later, there he was up on stage, blindly half-playing an assortment of tambourines in the Oholics. I'm just glad they didn't trust the Brian Jones look-alike with anything either sharp or important.

I'd had all I could take and went back to the El Mo and caught the latter half of Black Diamond Bay's set. It was solid and suitably raucous, but at that point the no-sleep daze was starting to take hold.

I carefully navigated out of the El Mo, holding onto my new vinyl prize (The aforementioned Two Koreas EP) with the kind of care I normally reserve for something living — like a ferret or a marmoset. I hopped in a cab, drained yet another sugar-free Red Bull, rolled down the window and bid adieu to NXNE's crazed mayhem for another year.