Devin Townsend Project @ Club Soda

So the Devin Townsend Project was in town on December 1, and I'm sorry to say that if you missed it we are no longer friends. It was way past my bedtime and so I didn't even stay for Animals as Leaders, but you have no excuse. Monday is the new Thursday, after all. In any case, I got what I came for, but now I face a mild dilemma. As the guy who got in trouble a couple months back for overplaying DTP's latest issue Z², it'll be hard for me to write this without it coming off as a love letter, so fuck it. Committing to the form.

Dear Devin Townsend, 

Hevvy Devvy!

What a delightful young man, you are. I want to lick your skull. Back to front if I'm choosing, but I can respect a man's right to have his naked scalp smeared with halitosis on his own terms. My urges are misplaced, however, because the best thing about your skull (your gleaming, smooth, candy-like skull) is what comes out of it. You are a turgid piñata of good vibes. 

There had been vexed murmurs in the ether regarding Toronto's show the night before, the details of which I have far too much "journalistic integrity" to be even incidentally aware of. I can concede from my experience that the show in Montreal did not go off without a hitch. The sound was kind of pants, unless one was possessed of elbows of steel such as I and able to shoulder at least halfway through the sold-out crowd. It was weird to be standing not six feet from the sound booth and hearing the smudgy mess you'd expect from out on the street. Next time you need to play on the god damn moon or something, I can't have you cooped up like that again. You have a big sound, Devin dearest. A stadium sound. Conversely, Club Soda is not a stadium. Moving this gripe-train along, part of the big fancy LED display behind you was glitching out something fierce the whole time, and you guys even slipped up on a few riffs, but you know what? 

Nobody gave an impacted giraffe's colon about any of that, you charismatic wonder.

The Ziltoid hand-puppets were brandished, banter was served, the packed mass of humanity moved with the music. I and a multitude of people like me came away from your set smiling like imbeciles. 

Heavy metal is a genre beset by virtuosity (there are worse problems). Historically, we metal heads seem to prefer quantifying our art, at least overtly focusing on the fastest, the heaviest, the loudest, the best executed. I'm not going to get into the values of this outlook here, I'm not even going to suggest that it still holds true, because Monday was the best show I've seen in a while, and it was only partly to do with the music.

You are a person, Devin. It's palpable. It's nice to see that nothing's gone to your head.

Your glistening, beguiling head.

Hearts, kisses, and ASCII boners

-DJ Spacepirate

--From the bowels of the underworld, DJ Spacepirate hosts Burnt Offerings, every Sunday at 6 PM on CJLO.