Broken Social Scene Kings Of Their Own Party

Sun-worshipping, pot-smoking and stoner rocking on Toronto's Olympic Island: sounds like hippie heaven.

So why were 10,000 hipsters there instead? They've been coming to the island for three years now, beckoned out of their usual smoky dives to shoegaze in the sun. Maybe for one day of the year, nature-loving is irresistibly ironic.

But it's more likely that the draw of a day full of music stamped with the Broken Social Scene seal of approval is too strong to resist. This year's offerings proved even more tempting than usual, resulting in the event's first sell out. By the early afternoon, the concert herd were already spilling from ferry after ferry to reclaim the park from the stroller and golden retriever set. Blankets were spread, oversized rock star shades were donned and the pasty skin of many a music nerd was offered endless UV rays.

By 3 p.m. the program was on schedule and Toronto's Raising The Fawn put an end to the pre-show chill-out reggae being blasted around the park. Dylan Green's drums were crisp and piercing and Scott Remila's bass lines thundered on an otherwise perfectly clear day.

But the 45-minute set of mostly brooding '90s alternative mope-out atmospherics was a little more than unnerving given the high-in-the sky sunshine. More than a few bodies were splayed on blankets mere feet from singer John Crossingham.

It wouldn't be until J Mascis took the stage that they'd be forced by stage-rushers from their sun-soaked napping. The night before, Mr. Dinosaur Jr. was at Toronto's Mod Club with members of BSS to play the hits for charity dollars.

A smattering of Broken Social Scenesters joined for a repeat of the "one-off" schtick as Broken Mascis Scene. And while there was some fleeting novelty in seeing BSS go ape as the Dinosaur Jr. cover band they always wanted to be, the real entertainment was in Mascis' squealing guitar solos.

Shrouded behind his silver mane and firmly rooted to his little patch of stage right, Mascis owned the show. Pink-faced thirty-something diehards wailed every lyric from the front rows, and on stage Kevin Drew all but gave Mascis bedroom eyes as he gazed in reverence.

A closing-number cameo from Feist whetted appetites for the set to come. But seconds after she began her solo performance — strutting onstage to cheers, dressed in too-cool white and mirrored shades — there was a moment of panic that numbed the audience. She checked her voice, repeating one whispery note. The Toronto flu had claimed her.

"Can I have some pity, please? Can you scream and scare it out of me?" she asked. "Take care of me, Toronto. Pat my head. Feed me tomato soup and Salteens with margarine and just a bit of sprinkled parmesan."

No dice on the comfort-food order, but there was plenty of love and even more admiration. The flu certainly didn't lessen her ability to throw her monster cherry-red guitar around the stage (like on the gutteral "When I Was A Young Girl"). And a sore throat adds an extra level of pain to her typically seductive and heartwrenching croon.

Beautiful as it was, the intimate and torchy set wilted in the big summer setting. Both singer and audience would have been better served in a cozy venue with a little brandy for sipping.

Bloc Party, however, played as though they've only ever set foot in venues bordered by beer tents and port-a-potties. Lately, they really have, as they were coming off of summer gigs at super festivals such as Coachella.

"I think it's just about time to start dancing," singer Kele Okereke said before taunting the beginning-to-thaw crowd with a cheeky sneer and a cocked guitar as "Banquet" filled the air. English flags waved and fans finally dared to dance. From the wings, BSS and VIP K-OS looked on in sombre appreciation as Matt Tong beat his drums into disrepair.

Their new material was outstanding. One song unexpectedly turned from slow introspection to intense militant rock, inciting an instant sea of claps. But the beginnings of frenzy still weren't enough for some uber-fans who screamed, "Wake the shit up, people, it's rock and roll!" out of frustration at the day's shoegazer vibe.

With the sun beginning to fade behind the city skyline, the party looked to finally be getting started. But the mood still wasn't quite right. The earlier sets were too intimate, and Bloc Party's angular guitars and taking-the-piss attitude were too intense for the still-mellow island.

Broken Social Scene (l-r): Andrew Whiteman, Amy Millan, Kevin Drew and Brenadan Canning (Photo by Joe Fuda)

Broken Social Scene, however, were just right. With the day now cast in a smoky grey haze, BSS started slowly with a wash of static noise. The crowd limbered up by the third song, "7/4 (Shoreline)," when Feist rocketed to the mic and shook her emerald-green hoodie from her head in typical madwoman style. The fast pace continued through "Cause=Time" and a rushing "Stars And Sons."

A guitar war broke out between Mascis and Andrew Whiteman during "Almost Crimes." Drew assumed the role of ringmaster as he introduced the ever-expanding all-star lineup. The infamously bloated roster spread into the wings (already stuffed with dancing friends and family members) and up into the scaffolding (where Stars' Torquil Campbell was occasionally perched).

Anything smaller than Olympic Island would barely withstand the sound of it — each song was more grandiose than the last. And any of the final three songs — "Ibi Dreams Of Pavement," "It's All Gonna Break" and "KC Accidental" — would have served as a satisfying climax to the two-hour set. So this was why the hipsters fled the city.