The Soft Pack @ Green Room

Two weekends ago… 

Saturday: Sleep in. Maybe too much. Work. Climb mountain at midnight, drink beer, call toll-free sex lines with friends from payphones and try to fake credit card numbers, but fail miserably. Get scared in a graveyard, go home. Sleep at 4:00 am.  

Sunday: Work 11:30. Family dinner in Hudson. After hearing great reviews after its South by Southwest screening, boyfriend invites me to see Hot Tub Time Machine, and I’m all like “I totally want to see that, John Cusack is, like, the man of my dreams, oh my God, High Fidelity is the best LOL!”  

Monday: Nothing, then work. Make $80 in tips. I am a pimp.  

Tuesday: Call boyfriend. “Dude, can’t go see Hot Tub Time Machine tonight. I have to review the Soft Pack at La Tulipe.” “Who’s that?” he asks. “Fuck if I know”. Go to show, and this follows: 

Ok, so I volunteered to review this show at La Tulipe. While yammering away about the genius of Mark Sultan’s new album on my show, Cut Your Hair and Get a Job (which I can’t believe I’ve never overtly pimped out before in an article), I receive a phone call from CJLO magazine editor and occasional painkiller abuser Brian, who tells me the show has been moved to the Green Room, slightly north of my humble ‘aboveapizzaria’ Plateau dwelling. Sweet. Doors are at 8, and the more I fully investigate this Tuesday evening line-up (the Beaters followed by former Vivian Girls openers Male Bonding, and finally the Soft Pack) the more I become “super jacked” about this show. I use my cat’s MySpace account to check out the bands online, and praise the day our lord and saviour invented cats, the internet, and the MTV generation’s penchant for self involvement.  

I arrive at the Green Room at precisely 9:05 pm. I think I expect to see a ton of people smokin’ and jokin’ outside the venue, waiting for the first opener The Beaters to begin momentarily. Well kids, in this assumption I was wrong on more levels than I can count without using my fingers, and that number is precisely three. Potentially the number that comes after three. Here they are:

1) Literally no one was outside the Green Room. I found this suspicious… maybe this was an elaborately organized surprise birthday party. If this were the case, I would cut off ties with all my friends for being such inconsiderate dumbasses and not even coming close to knowing my date of birth.

2) The Beaters got stuck at the boarder and couldn’t make the show. That was too bad.

3) The show actually started just after 8, and I missed Male Bonding. WAIT – I MISSED MALE BONDING! Seriously, since when do shows actually start at 8? Really, the show was over by around 10. What are we, sixth graders?! Dude, THE FAMILY CHANNEL RUNS LATER THAN THAT! 

Whatever, I don’t even care.  

So, this band the Soft Pack… yeah, I dunno about these guys. Maybe I’m a bit of a snob but I was initially off put by their “Abercrombie and Fitch carefree beach frat boy” thing; this brings me to a short tale for those interested. If not, skip this paragraph. So, once upon a time, not but two years ago I was a first-year Concordia student with the naïveté of a girl, but the rack of a grown woman. I’m mostly kidding. Anyway, I attended McGill’s Nuit Blanche with my roommate Jordana and our friend Nina, and somehow Nina and I got invited to a nearby party by 2 girls. We told them we were in first year, so they made this huge deal about how this was a ‘fourth year party’, and how we should feel honoured we were invited. So we went, and the whole thing was basically just drunk dudes playing fooseball and girls talking about their hair wraps they got while vacationing together in “fuckin’ CANCUUUUUN!”. We left. Yes, the dudes of the Soft Pack bring me back to that fateful night.  

There’s no doubt these dudes are technically proficient, but about 75% of the time that makes them boring unless they’ve got something else going for them… and since this wasn’t no Yngwie Malmsteen shit, I was not incredibly entertained by their overwhelming lack of stage presence. The band seemed incredibly unsure of themselves and out of place, this applies doubly to the lead singer, who looked bored in a non-shoegaze kind of way. In my notes, I said I would not like to have them as friends, as they seem dull. I think this is a little harsh in retrospect, but I do still think that I’d prefer to hang out with Dave Matthews: he may seem dull, but I hear he smokes maaaaad doobage (note: I do not condone these behaviours necessarily, this is transcribed directly from my stream of consciousness notes. Please do not blacklist me from doing these reviews).  

Okay, let’s get down to the music. The singer, I figured out by the end of the show, sounds a bit like the Killers’ Brandon Flowers, only more monotone. “More or Less” was a little R.E.M. tinged with vocals that should have been much louder, cause no one really cares about instrumental tunes. “Pullout” was big with the jock contingent of the audience, maybe because it implied ineffective birth control methods that resulted (and continues to result) in thousands of unintentional pregnancies, an issue this demographic seems to identify with. It seemed like by rockin’ out they let out a unified and triumphant “DUDE, THAT WAS SO CLOSE” just after breaking it off with their girlfriend. Kind of sounds like Interpol and I’m also briefly interested, but the song falls flat pretty quickly with a formulaic chorus. About 5 or 6 songs in, when the band plays “Parasites”, I decide I had may as well be doing an album review given the lack of interest in performing live the band seems to have. And I thought I was a snob. “All My Time” was like a Chevrolet, a tried, tested and true formulaic catchy rock song that drove the crowd ‘aging French Canadian hipster wild’. They totally bobbed their heads like NUTS!  

The show was a short one, and I was glad for that fact. I would say don’t bother seeing this band live, their recorded stuff sounds way better. Like, waaaay better. No big deal, I guess, maybe they’ll get more comfortable playing in front of audiences and spark my interest in the future. I just figured that a band comprised completely of white dudes that used to call themselves ‘The Muslims’ would leave a more lasting impression. However, I would like to thank the band profusely for announcing the names of their songs before playing them, as I am an incredibly irresponsible journalist and wouldn’t have known what I was talking about without their help. So thanks dudes. I owe you a brewski.