Clues Represent At Pop Montreal 2009

Various venues

Montreal, QC

on Sep 30 2009

Erik Leijon (CHARTattack)

10/02/2009 3:34pm

"Wow, we're celebrating our eighth year," begins Pop Montreal festival creative director Dan Seligman in the fest's 2009 program book intro. "Who woulda thunk? Damn, we're lucky!"

Pop Montreal is certainly something that elicits copious amounts of civic pride, whether you're involved as an organizer, volunteer, band or ticket buyer. Heck, even non-patrons who just happen to stumble on a busy show, expecting their normal watering hole-type of evening can appreciate curmudgeonly music types complaining about the rigidity of festivals in other cities and how the looseness of Pop Montreal is a refreshing change from the usual tireless business dealing going on elsewhere.

Pop Montreal is bigger than ever, even if this year's five-day concert hall crawl is lacking in big names. That's even better, perhaps, since it shines a greater spotlight on the more unheralded groups who consider playing Pop Montreal an important stepping stone in their young careers. Hopefully, it will mean a slew of great discoveries as well, since deciding which shows to attend will be more about venue proximity and funny sounding band names than sex appeal or hype.

For reasons unknown, opening night (Sept. 30) was light on must-see acts, while Thursday (Oct. 1) was so jam-packed with hyped-up events one had to make some serious choices about who to catch and who to miss.

On Wednesday, the day began with the unfortunate news that Zoobizarre, one of the city's most unique venues, has been shut down and had its concert licence revoked. Here's hoping the brick-laden bar's rehabilitation goes as smoothly as the recently reopened Casa Del Popolo, rather than the still dormant Main Hall.

The development was reported via Twitter, and based on the volume of Pop talk on the social networking service, it has become an indispensable tool for festival-goers.

Wednesday, Sept. 30

5:45 p.m. Media pass and pick up at the typically derelict Notman House on Sherbrooke. The goody bag featured an impressive mix CD, but no edible contents this year. Usually, there are plenty of people hanging around outside the building, but this year it's far too cold, except for the most dedicated of smokers. This year's bracelet is Liberace silver. It must be worn all week.

8:30 p.m. The night starts over a pitcher at Copacabana's on St. Laurent Ave. It serves as a quiet fortress of solitude amid the bustle of Pop Montreal.

9:15 p.m. Two years ago, I was unceremoniously ejected from Club Lambi for attempting to catch headstrong Tennessee rocker Jay Reatard. This year, he's playing at the slightly larger Sala Rossa up the street, yet once again I get the heave-ho from some smug British volunteer, who informs me I could still purchase a ticket at full cost.

It's the result of there not being enough shows scheduled for opening night, and with so many eager passholders combing the typical haunts only to find precious little happening. "I can recommend some other venues..." starts the Brit, before I interject that I already passed by nearby Divan Orange, and that it looked empty.

10:15 p.m. I stroll to Matt & Kim at Club Lambi. They're not letting in passholders either, media or otherwise. At this point I'm spewing the typical "I'm a journalist, let me do my job" rhetoric, and the courageous soul charged with consoling me is supposedly the festival booker.

"What media are you from?" he asks.

I flash my CHARTattack media badge, only to receive a discourteous eyeroll from the long-haired man.

"We can't all be Pitchfork," I snap as I walk down the stairs to street level.

Matt & Kim at Club Lambi (Photo by Cindy Lopez)

11 p.m. Received a text from ChartAttack's newest photographer, Cindy Lopez. She got into one of the aforementioned shows. It's not an airtight system, it would seem. If you stumble in at the right time, plead your case and hope someone on the RSVP list didn't show up, you're in.

11:05 p.m. Two passholders overhear my loud denouncing of the ineffectiveness and elitism of the Pop Montreal pass system. Basically you have to RSVP online in advance for high profile shows, but every show reserves most of their space to walk-up ticket buyers. What then, is the purpose of buying a pass if you're going to be coaxed into buying a ticket anyway? These two wayward souls got turned away from Barfly, the dankest hole in the wall imaginable. BARFLY!

11:30 p.m. My last chance before heading home exasperated. One of the best local bands are playing O Patro Vys — Elephant Stone. I do get in, with nary a problem.

Frontman and former High Dials bassist Rishi Dhir alternates between bass and the sitar with his new, India-meets-Madchester Brit-pop group. He announces the band will be playing their debut LP, The Seven Seas, from start to finish. This bodes very well.

11:50 p.m. Elephant Stone have already bounced through rollicking opener "Bombs Bombs Away," the moody Stone Roses-vibe of "How Long?" the wistful Harrison-esque "I Am Blind," and the carefree sitar pop of the album's title track. It's my third time seeing them this year, and this could be the best yet. It's a large band and the sound is particularly busy, but it only adds to the enveloping charm of their classic style of pop.

11:58 p.m. Dhir is ripping on the sitar on the instrumental "The Straight Line."

12:15 a.m. Elephant Stone cap off the night with album closer "Don't You Know," and all my misgivings about this year's Pop Montreal have subsided following their revelatory set. Invariably, the bands who play Pop Montreal do so regardless of the front door politics and back room dealing, so it's important to leave one's inconsolable rage at the door and simply enjoy this year's embarrassment of musical riches.

Thursday, Oct. 1

10:05 p.m. Now that Josh Gorges capped off a comeback win against the punchless Maple Leafs in the home opener, one can breathe a sigh of relief and enjoy Appalachian folkster Loudon Wainwright III at Ukrainian Federation.

10:10 p.m. Wainwright III — armed only with a guitar — opens with "Didn't He Ramble," from his recently released twentieth album, High Wide & Handsome: The Charlie Poole Project. The original was written by W.C. Handy, yet it set the tone perfectly for Wainwright III's inimitably warm, emotional, yet disarmingly funny and morbid brand of songwriting.

10:20 p.m. Thankfully, the sound at the Ukrainian Federation is up to par because lyric-heavy songwriters like Wainwright need to be fully audible at all times. It's actually necessary to lean slightly forward in order to absorb all the lyrical depth, as if not doing so could result in some subtle references getting away.

10:25 p.m. The first killer line of the night that sends the receptive crowd in a frenzy: "I ain't dead, but I'm getting there."

Wainwright joked after the song that he has plenty of family-friendly tunes in tow. It occurred to me there are precious few songwriters today with a sense of humour, let alone one as razor sharp and precise as Wainwright's. Also, he looked and dressed exactly like Jay Baruchel's goofy dad on Undeclared.

10:40 p.m. Wainwright III had plenty to say on the recession, or the "new depression" as he called it. Another talent that separates Wainwright III from a new generation of tepid songwriters is his uncanny ability to start and stop songs on a whim, sometimes going into non-sequiturs while tuning his guitar, or merely altering lyrics on the fly.

There isn't a second of respite with him, as you're either listening intently to every word uttered or laughing uncontrollably about the concept of heaven being an open-bar orgy, or how airline employee Suzie/Angela trashed his prized guitar. Songwriters, take note.

Clues At Cabaret Juste Pour Rire (Photo by Cindy Lopez)

11 p.m. You know you have a peculiar sense of humour when your most recognizable song is an Oedipal ode to drinking with your mother. As intriguing as Wainwright III was, my brain simply couldn't handle more of the dense content, so I made my way down to Cabaret Juste Pour Rire for Montreal's own Clues.

11:30 p.m. What an absolute timewarp. Replace Cabaret with Zoobizarre, and this could be 2003, with Montreal's first known export, The Unicorns, exchanging barbs and angry glances to each other on stage while churning out some of the strangest, most unconventional pop music ever conceived. It's no surprise they burnt out instead of fading away, but the remnants are present everywhere, including Clues' Alden Penner (a member of Unicorns, obviously).

11:35 p.m. Clues sound quite a bit like The Unicorns, so the comparisons are unavoidable. The songs weave and duck in unpredictable fashion, often bursting at the seams with energy before tapering off to a faint whisper. The aggressive zylophone thumping of "Cave Mouth" is the type of awkward, Legend Of Zelda-inspired geek pop Montrealers can't get enough of, even if tastes change elsewhere.

Clues' eponymous debut was a solid re-introduction to Penner's idiosyncratic songwriting, but live they're just that much more punchy, and it doesn't hurt that Cabaret is filled to the brim with knowledgeable fans.

12 a.m. The penultimate song in the set (this was before realizing there would be a four song encore) is a new, unreleased track and is nothing but awkward brilliance led by squelching keyboards.

12:17 a.m. The band finish their encore with silly string and pinatas used as percussion that get ripped apart and the contents distributed among the first few rows. Penner is also singing in french about the environment.

12:55 a.m. Another long trek north to L'Escogriffe for local punkers Trigger Effect. No silly string at this show, I reckon; just a lot of spilt beer and sweat.

1:10 a.m. It's a small venue, and nothing to separate the crowd from the frontman's demonic stares. If Christopher Nolan is ever looking for another Joker, we may have found him in Nick Babeau.

1:20 a.m. Memo to self: do not wear loafers to a punk show. I may not have stepped in the mosh pit right away (more of a mosh allocated space), but Babeau walked over and brought the carnage to me, and pretty soon I was covered in his sweat.

A good chunk of the crowd was watching along the periphery, although there was a handful of dedicated fans shouting out the inaudible lyrics along with Babeau and receiving a generous helping of band sweat and airborne beer.

1:30 a.m. At this point, it's clear Trigger Effect are the wildest punk band in the city, as anyone who came into L'Escogriffe looking to relieve some aggression found the perfect outlet to do so. Even the alleged "ballad" ended in a fury of guitars and blood-curdling screaming.

The sound was terrific, as both guitarists were coming in clear amid the chaos. Babeau was crowd surfing, and I did my best to keep him up while not slamming his head on the very low ceiling. My shoes were ruined and my notebook was sopping wet.

1:45 a.m. With apologies to the excellent Sister Suvi, getting to Balattou at this point in time is an impossibility. Even Casa Del Popolo closed up shop early tonight. There's a party of some kind going on upstairs next to Casa, but shoeless and shellshocked following a beautifully chaotic set I decided to rest up for another busy day.