Veils Unite Dark And Light

The relationship between darkness and light is usually described in terms of a battle, but the two seemed perfectly at ease with each other at the Horseshoe last night.

The union started with mild flirtations during Faces On Film's set. Darkness seemed in firm control of the band during most of their songs. While singing, Mike Fiore's eyes often remained fixed somewhere just beyond the audience in front of him. Accompanied with his plaintive, soaring voice, it almost sounded as if the band were facing an abyss, pleading for some sort of reprieve for all of us.

But whatever spell existed during those moments lost its hold on the group when the music stopped. Smiles were cracked, pleasantries were exchanged. Eventually, that same spark also crept into the music, and the darker moments blended easily with feverish ones.

At the beginning of the set, it would have seemed preposterous to see a tall, somber man in a suit hammering happily away on a music stand as if it were a percussive instrument, but by the end, it made perfect sense.

The second opening act actually looked like they were performing from the other side of that same abyss. With nothing more than a few white lights for backlighting, Los Angeles' Foreign Born appeared to be in a deep, hazy fog.

But while the group's music had its moody, backlight-worthy moments, levity was no wallflower during the set. There were raucous moments, there were buoyant ones. And, thanks to a lovely, spare cover of Leonard Cohen's "Lover Lover Lover," there were even downright pretty ones.

As intriguing as Faces On Film and Foreign Born's performances were, though, they were mere foreplay. Light and dark didn't really get down to business until The Veils took the stage.

Over three albums, Finn Andrews and his somewhat rotating cast of supporting musicians have presented a fairly somber side of themselves. The band have never been unduly morose, but there's something very, very haunting about even the most upbeat of Veils songs on record.

To a large extent, this is also true of The Veils live. In some ways, songs become even more intense. Finn's beautiful voice alternates between sounding like it's being coaxed or ripped from the depths of his soul, but it inevitably looks like the latter is happening. His eyes constantly drifting off to the side, he performs with a degree of anguished terror that probably hasn't been seen in popular culture since Bob stopped troubling the citizens of Twin Peaks.

When the music becomes louder, Andrews tears into his guitar, sometimes ripping the strap off mid-song with the power of his playing. During "Jesus For The Jugular," it was hard to tell if he was performing an exorcism on his guitar or if it was really the other way around.

But another side to The Veils also became apparent. Finn's presence, which might be overwhelming on its own, was tempered by his bandmates. Drummer Raife Burchell, who is touring with the band following the recent departure of Henning Dietz, added a cool, capable backdrop to the presentation. Bassist Sophia Burn often played with a smile on her face and guitarist Dan Raishbrook had a similarly calming presence.

Even Finn became less frightened (and frightening) when the more dramatic music ended. His banter with the audience was almost boyishly nervous. He joked with us, told us stories about the songs (or sometimes tried to, lost his train of thought and laughed) and even sang a ditty about Toronto's garbage strike.

This balance was just as present during the songs themselves as it was in their presentation. Deftly embracing highs and lows, despair and joy, agony and ecstasy, The Veils tore into their material with a contagious passion, offering an all-encompassing experience where no reaction seemed out of place. The girls squealing and dancing along to the seductive rhythm of "Not Yet" and "Calliope!" fit right in next to those who watched a tour de force like "Larkspur" with a sort of dazed, rapt gaze.

This delicate but often rapturous balance of emotions held most of the audience captive (there was a drunken fratboy who spent the entire set catcalling Burn and a group of people far more interested in talking about what well-educated fans they were than actually being fans) for a good hour and change. And our devotion was well-rewarded.

For the first part of the encore, Finn came out alone, joked with the audience and played gorgeous, understated solo versions of "The Tide That Left And Never Came Back," "Lavinia" and "Sun Gangs." Then he was once again joined by the band for one last searing performance, one last soaring union between light and dark, before turning us out into the night.