Les Savy Fav @ The Little Burgundy Pop Loft (Pop Montreal)

In another showcase of late night festival mayhem, I had the pleasure of experiencing Les Savy Fav live and in person for the first time ever. Being a late adopter of their brand of high octane, zany post-hardcore madness, I was warned that it would be an amazing live show. No one who commented would elaborate much, but each of them promised that the venue would likely be marred from the experience.

As I made my way to the venue, I received a call from some CJLO friends who had some car trouble, so I double-timed it back to their location and we made our way into the deep dark recesses of the northern part of Parc Avenue. One hand stamp later and we were in the building with time to spare before the headliners hit the stage.

Due to some festival complications and other assorted stupidity, the show started late and our CJLO folks tabling the event received a few needless snippy comments. Here's a tip to anyone who wants to put on a city-wide festival: the media people who link themselves to your programming are putting in volunteer time and effort to ensure that your events are well-attended. Don't get all self-important and make it harder for us to help you.  Don't make your media pass system difficult and convoluted. Don't let your desire to make money overrule your desire to make your 5-day culturefest a good time for all. Okay, off the soapbox and back to the show review I go…

At about 2:15 a.m. or so, the band got on stage, all except for lead singer Tim Harrington, who was delaying his arrival for a few short moments. One of the guitar players was holding his iPhone up to his guitar pick up, causing odd noises to go through his amplifier, paired with delay.

(Later, I met said guitar player and he divulged that it's an app that he had recently gotten called "Bebot". I have also now procured this super cool app for a paltry $1.99 and suggest you do the same. Do it now, hipsters!)

The black lights permeating the stage suddenly gave way to truck driver lookalike, Tim Harrington sashaying onto the stage in a faux fur orange poncho, a ladies' wig, round sixties sunglasses a beer, and of course, a small cured ham. He spoke some nonsense about partying and love and without much of a warning, he spat beer into the steaming mass of us and the once standing crowd became an aggressive mob at the first few chords of "Appetites" (opener of their new record Root for Ruin).

And just like that, my spot about 6 feet from stage, has become a struggle to stand up about 15 feet further back.  My almost pristine Converse were quickly covered in beery, muddy footprints of my fellow concertgoers. Not that I'm complaining because I was smiling and fist pumping the whole way through the experience. Frontman Tim Harrington was introducing himself to the crowd intimately with frequent visits into the throng of people pulling his extra long microphone chord through the human cholesterol.

His mastery of the audience, charisma and overall odd persona would not be out of place in the world of pro-wrestling, of which he referenced by dedicating a song to Bret Hart and the infamous Montreal event The Montreal Screwjob. Through the 70 minute set, he was seen wrapping his mic cord numerous times around a pipe in the rafters and swinging on it while singing; he was seen pulling and throwing chunks of ham into the audience and then impaling the ham with the microphone; he was seen pouring beer on his nipples and then kissing a strange bearded man in the crowd (right behind me).  At the encore, he was seen in a multicoloured bird outfit pulsing with energy.

The band backing up this chaos was always on point, churning out some of the best rock and roll I have heard all year. The music was hooky, and although mostly faster-paced it was unafraid to get a little quieter and weirder for small snippets of time showing well-thought-out arrangements and a sense of order even when things got the most out of control. This band lived up to the spectacle that their word-of-mouth described and backed it up with the ear-shredding goodness that you want out of a rock show.

Les Savy Fav, in molesting the stage and a few selected audience members made certain that pity should befall anyone who has to follow them on any rock bill. They are consummate closers and must be seen by all of you before you die.  Remember to bring earplugs, though, or suffer the consequences.