Dears Hearts On Sleeve In Toronto

The Mod Club

Toronto, ON

on Apr 30 2009

Erik Missio (CHARTattack)

05/01/2009 3:17pm

Miserable, never-ending torrential downpours, paired with Toronto's traffic and endless construction can make it hard to get to early shows like The Dears' gig at The Mod Club.

Consequently, this reviewer only caught the last two songs of local opener, Lioness. (Of course, given The Dears had their tour bus stolen that morning and still managed to make the Montreal-to-Toronto trek in time renders rain and crappy congestion as weak-assed excuses for missing most of the warm-up set.)

From what I did see, the trio were good. The rhythm section comes from late, lamented dance rock outfit, Controller.Controller, but the set's two closing songs were more about the rock than the dance.

Frontwoman Vanessa Fischer has an Ann Wilson thing going on, vocally. She's got an undeniable star quality, along with the important ability to make you feel like she's looking right at/through you — and only you — amongst the masses. She also has what looks like a tattoo of Le Petit Prince. This, if accurate, is awesome.

Given the aforementioned grand theft autobus, one could forgive The Dears if they weren't up for re-legitimizing their usual rep for being one of this country's best live bands. And hey, between the rain, the swine flu fears and the economy, this can't be the most optimistic and inspirational time to kick off a six-week tour.

To their credit, though, the pop-noir purveyors didn't phone it in. Yeah, they looked tired (frontman Murray Lightburn acknowledged as much during the set) and, yeah, I've seen them play much better shows — whatever. Merely "very good" Dears still beats "excellent" other bands, nine times out of 10.

Ever the flair for the unconventionally dramatic, the band kicked things off with "Saviour," the 11-and-a-half-minute closer off the recent Missiles. As the musicians filed on stage, Lightburn came in through the crowd, singing wireless, with eyes alternating between closed or unnervingly locked with those in the audience as they fumbled for phones and cameras to capture the moment.

After climbing on stage to join his bandmates, Lightburn conducted the still-mostly-relatively-new line-up through a selection of songs from the new disc, and a few cuts from 2006's Gang Of Losers and 2003's No Cities Left. (Alas, nothing from 2000's End Of A Hollywood Bedtime Story.) Natalia Yanchak — the only other Dear to survive last year's implosion — took her usual place on keys, joined by returning long-lost member Rob "Tiger" Benvie (ex-Thrush Hermit).

The remainder are the same players from The Dears' most recent outings — Yann Geoffroy on drums (bashing the kit with more gusto than the last time he was in town), Jason Kent (nice solo on "Lights Off") and Christopher McCarron (notably, but subtly, adding to the textures on the older songs) on guitar, and Laura Wills on keys.

They're good, and likely getting better, but it's important to remember The Dears' previous line-up once made a CHARTattack reviewer compare its live show to seeing the face of God; they were a band so musically tight it bordered on hermetic. The new guys will more than likely get there, but not just yet. There were what appeared to be the slightest moments of confusion, hesitation and not quite full assimilation.

Lightburn's songwriting ability is one thing that hasn't changed. Hearing his oeuvre over the years reassembled at once on stage reminds you that one thing, if nothing else, is true about The Dears: they've got some goddamn great songs. From "There Goes My Outfit" and the so-catchy-it's-pandemic "Whites Only Party" to newer works like the Yanchak duet "Crisis 1&2" and "Demons," this is excellent, timeless music.

In Lightburn's hands, "We Can Have It" becomes an unlikely singalong anthem, "Lost In The Plot" still sounds strong, and having a verse of "Who Are You, Defenders Of The Universe?" leading into "22: The Death Of All The Romance" makes all the sense in the world.

The tiredness and the having a not-so-good kind of day may have actually had a positive effect on Lightburn. His "Hate, Then Love" has never felt this desperate, the man all-but-screaming, "I believe in love! I swear it to you!" A few songs earlier, during "Dream Job," Lightburn confided in the audience, telling us he's got nothing up his sleeves, disrobing his leather jacket to offer proof. But it's a lie. He's got his heart on his sleeve and everyone knows it.

This is a band that thrives on unbridled emotion. On romance. On Love and Truth with capital "L"s and "T"s. The music of The Dears comes with an often defiant mission statement, the message channelled like a demonic possession or divine intercession. Their detractors (those that have moved beyond nonsensical Smiths comparisons, anyway) say the band take themselves too seriously. In some ways, they might be right.

Watching Lightburn on stage, seeing how invested he is in the music, you realize he's far from "cool" in the traditional sense of the word. He's not detached, he's not unflappable, he's not calm. Hell, in many ways, The Dears are the least cool band in the world. This is their strength, even when they're tired and missing a bus.