CJLO v. NXNE (Chapter 2: "Wednesday")

On Tuesday night I saw !!!. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen !!!, but my mom has seen them more times than me and she advises two things: (1) “take [redacted illicit substance] beforehand, but not as much as that time your stepdad threw up,” and (2) “touch Nic Offer’s ass. I’ve touched his ass and it was great!”
Now, !!! didn’t play NXNE - they were at le Belmont – but that I followed at least one of these pieces of advice (I’ll leave the speculation to you) provides a partial explanation as to why I zombied through most of my trip to Toronto the next day. I remember dudebros from Vanier on their way to a varsity football camp in Cincinnati talking about girls and porn the entire way on the Megabus, seeing that Canadian guy from the Daily Show filming something on Adelaide on my way to the hotel, and eating “healthy” Shoppers Drug Mart chips on my hotel bed as the first meal of the day. Besides that, a bit of a blur.

As the first day of the music component of NXNE, Wednesdays are  a bit abbreviated. We decided to make a go of it through and see as many different ends of the genre-d spectrum as possible in an evening and in the same general vicinity (preceded cheap Chinatown dumplings and hotel room TV, of course --- sorry Vagina Panther, Toddlers and Tiaras beckoned).  

Samanta Martin and the Haggard (I don't have a very good camera so music photography will be substituted by relevant pictures of cats from the internet)

We started out in Kensington, going into venues at random. We caught a bit of Toronto’s Samantha Martin and the Haggard (“soul powerhouse of blues, gospel, rockabilly, and rock n’ roll”) at the Supermarket (268 Augusta). We ducked out early because it felt like a “mom show,” too many moms to start off a weekend of depravity (sorry moms, nothing personal) --- Ontario really has no deficit of singer/songwriters and their bands playing “sassy country-folk,” and we have too much to sample in too little time. Technically, they were fine though - I’m a fan of tambourines, and the consensus on the guitarist was “DILF.” Congratulations, guy.  

BABYSITTER

We moseyed on down to the Detour Bar (193 ½ Baldwin). The Detour was great – a little hole in the wall with cheap bear, a playful chalkboard menu (highlights included the Starfleet insignia tucked away next to the Sangria special and the giant notice that advised in no uncertain terms “ABSOLUTELY NO DUCKFACE ALLOWED”). Caught a bit of the Plugs (“energetic guitars and the poppier side of punk”) before taking a park-break; bless ‘em, but they definitely sounded like they were from Brampton. Returned for BABYSITTER (“West coast rock and roll revolutionaries with a uniquely skewed take on anthemic grunge”). When I lived out in Victoria for my first year of university, they played fairly regularly at the only good pub in town (shout out to Logan’s) and I had a bit of a crush on the lead singer. Like, enough that I wrote a drunk Craigslist missed connection complimenting him on his bowtie after a show. In the three years since, I’ve grown older, more sober, and he grew out his hair. So now he’s less hot-hot, more confusing-hot-like-that-guy-they-casted-as-Daario-on-Game-of-Thrones.

I guess the gig was fun too.

SATURNS

The Rivoli (332 Queen) played to SATURNS (“a broken synthesizer, space invasions, and earth samples”), and they were fine. Very much part of a particular Toronto-based hipster brand of weird party music, but they sold it. And I’m a sucker for dueling guitars and sci-fi rhapsodizing. We would have stayed at the Rivoli and closed the night with Duck Duck Goose (“off-beat Toronto act merging a sense of adventure to a groove and melody”) but we spotted a fedora and fled. When you're on limited time, sometimes you gotta let snap-sartorial judgements lead the way. So we ended up at another Toronto institution, the Bovine Sex Club (542 Queen) for Midnight Malice (“metal meet beer, beer meet metal”). There were skinny tattoed topless men (none them as well-tattoed as the guy in the audience with "I HATE PEOPLE" written in careful script on his chest, though), loud guitars, and a couple failed stagedives  - to a casual observer, this seemed like metal, yes. And standing on the edge of the moshpit ensured plenty of beer spilled on my person. So far, Midnight Malice holds the title of most accurate band description. 

And then we went to bed. I had a dream that I stole from antique shops. 

Today ---- a trip to the airport, wisdom from an enigmatic Mr. Harris, and a gig from MTL/CJLO hometown heroes.

Here’s your Rob Ford .gif for the day: