M for Montreal

It’s day two proper of M for Montreal. Last night we were introduced to the first load of new Canadian talent, and I drank a can of beer that was precisely the same dimensions as a dustbin. It was only $5 from the petrol station over the road. Bargain.

If I’ve learned anything in the last 24 hours, it’s the Canada does things in extremes. For every Arcade Fire, Broken Social Scene and Land Of Talk, there’s an Avril, Celine or Shatner (Kirk was a Montreal boy, fact fans!). Of the six bands we saw last night, only one really made me excited; The National Parcs, whose bonkersly ace set made me go all gooey and start comparing them to TV On The Radio. I might have been a bit drunk, but I don’t think I was getting carried away, either…

Before them though were Les Dales Hawerchuk, a French-language tilt at Rage Against The Machine that doesn’t quite work. It’s a shame, because despite some actually-pretty-cool glacier-sized riffs, somebody needs to tell their frontman that he’s not supposed to machine-gun the audience with his guitar, whirl the mic round by its lead, or body-pop like David Brent’s drunk uncle.

The night got worse before it got better, too, thanks to the next band, Sweet Thing.

You know how on MySpace there is a category called ‘Melodramatic Popular Song’? Well it was tailor-made for them. A horrid blend of Killers camp, Guillemots wretch-inducing blandness, and The Hoosiers knack for making you want to rip off your ears and throw them in the bin, all topped off with what appeared to be Wesley from The Princess Bride in some ill-fitting trousers. His faux-fey strutting around the stage was so horror-inducingly wet that it made plastic indie whelp Joe Lean look like a seriously fucked off Pink Eyes.

Next came The National Parcs, backed by a strip-screen of crazy forest-based video montages and armed to the teeth with what looked like leg bones (percussion) and half-full bottles of water (that blowy-over-the-top thing so it makes a hooting noise). As their bongo-packed hip-hop rumbled along, images of people breaking rocks, stripping bark from logs, and playing an upturned canoe as a bass-drum started flashing across the screen. It’s easy to see why they’ve labelled themselves “New Lumberjack Swing”. They were like eco-warrior Beastie Boys.

They were so good that I watched Pas Chic Chic (started twee, turned gradually into MBV synth-noise thanks to two of their number being former members of Godspeed You! Black Emperor), Lioness (bass/drums/great frontwoman Gossip-like trio) and the first half of the final band, Duchess Says (CSS’ Lovefoxx on steroids fronting a synth-heavy Be Your Own Pet) in a sort of trance. I only snapped out of it when I realised that Duchess Says’ frontwoman was a barefooted, keytar-toting psycho, who was absolutely fucking hammered, throwing herself into the crowd in a shower of beer foam and screaming. They were last night’s most hyped band, and put on a great, chaotic show, but my head was still filled with upturned canoes and pebble-smashing.

Tonight we’ve got Chinatown, Arkells, Winter Gloves, Beast, Woodhands and CLAASS. Of these, everyone is most excited to see Beast. Check ‘Mr. Hurricane’ for a decent dollop of their trip-hop rock… More tomorrow…