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I’m writing this about a week after seeing Lightning Bolt live because I cannot seem to get the night out of my head. The show was something I had been looking forward to since they announced it back in July, and after a venue change and a scare of selling out, my expectations were set very high.

    I first discovered Lightning Bolt back in 2018, when I was first thrust into the world of the online music cannon. Their album Wonderful Rainbow released in 2003, is considered an essential listen for anyone versed in artsy noisy slop. I cannot say I had a huge connection to the band before the show. I’d throw some of their stuff on while biking sometimes to feel like I was being chased or perhaps on my way to defeat some evil force taking over the city, but that was the extent of my listening before the show was coming up. That being said, live noise rock is something I’m always looking for and I became more familiar with their stuff over the end of summer.

    I’d seen a few clips of them playing live in the past. There are some legendary videos of them playing in warehouses, surrounded by a crowd instead of up on a stage. The energy in these videos cannot be understated. Their setup as a band is something worth admiring on its own. Lightning Bolt are a duo with Brian Gibson on bass and Brian Chippendale on drums. They bring the absolute maximum amount of sound out of only two people, both in the studio and live. Chippendale wires a mic up on the inside of his mouth, so he does not have to arch his neck towards a traditional mic stand while he’s furiously drumming. On top of the mouth contraption, he wears one of several homemade masks, usually colorful and messily stitched together, which ends up adding a sense of danger to the live shows. With all this in mind, it had been some time since I’d been this excited to see a band live, despite only being a casual fan.

    While biking down De Maisonneuve to Club Soda, where the show was being held, an actual lightning bolt split the sky between two buildings straight ahead just as it began to drizzle. This could be nothing but a good sign. I arrived in time to see the set of the opener, Crabe, who were in spirit very similar to the main act, but musically very different. Crabe is also an art punk/noise duo on drums and a bass guitar. They have been in the Montreal underground scene for over fifteen years now, I’ve seen them a couple of times before and they always end up being one of the more memorable acts. This was my first time seeing the band perform indoors, and this setting really worked for them. The visual work behind them fluctuated between shots of the performer's faces and twisting, distorting colors. The screens added cohesion to their jumpy, unpredictable tunes. One second, they’d be shouting over samples of bird noises, the next they’d be whispering over a loop while the drummer keeps time with one hand and plays the keyboard with the other. Their set was incredible, and everybody seemed to enjoy it. There was one problem, however; no mosh. 

    My brain is broken, and every concert ends up being an investigation into the demographic of the show as much as it is about enjoying and feeling the music. I love the idea of a scene that changes over time, I guess. I knew Lightning Bolt were legendary for the Pitchfork generation, who end up being usual suspects at these kinds of shows. The kind of people who were listening to Neutral Milk Hotel in 2005 before their cultural relevance as a weird meme and or reason not to go on a second date. Sure enough, the room was full of mostly darkly dressed, bearded men pushing forty, standing there with their arms crossed. These crowds are minefields of both the coolest and worst people you’ll ever meet, but often end up with the no moshing problem, due to age or pretension or something. 

I was scared by this point that there would be no movement for Lightning Bolt, which was one of the main reasons I was at this show. Their music is perfect for moshing, in my eyes. They are brutally fast, and destructive, but their abrasive style does not come from a place of anger. There is color to their chaos, and a sense of playfulness to their breakneck riffing. This feeling is illustrated very well on their album covers which are painted by Brian Chippendale himself.  A mosh pit should not be a place to get punched in the stomach. Moshing is a group dance; it’s meant to be a good time. Looking around, the crowd did not have any of the mosh criminals I’m all too used to running into at hardcore shows. There were no short, shirtless men to leave me covered in half an inch of their sweat. There were no agitated meatheads to launch me so hard I backflip onto an unsuspecting soul across the room. Yet, there was no movement.

Outside, between acts, I was expressing my worries when my drummer friend assured me that the odd time signatures and constant switching of pace in Crabe’s music was the only thing preventing a proper pit from forming. I checked out the merch table during the break, where Chippendale’s visual art was on sale as well as some homemade jackets. Even their merch table had character.

When the two Brians got on stage, maskless and dressed like my father, the room was electric. People cheered as Chippendale put the mic inside his mouth and pulled tonight’s mask over his face. With distortion, reverb, delay and a slough of phasers over his voice, he welcomed us to the show and talked about how amazed he was by Crabe’s performance. Gibson remained silent for pretty much the entire show, it was Chippendale who carried the stage presence. Lit up in red, and with the screen behind him fixed on the masked face, he looked like a dictator channelling his subordinates in some alien noise rock dystopia. He began just shouting into the mic before he started playing, the noise was already piercing my ears. They managed to maintain the energy of a bar gig while playing at Club Soda, which is a feat all by itself.

When the band started, it was even louder than I had anticipated. I was thrust into a void of noise and peaking eardrums. People were still not moving. My fears were growing. I had to get theoretical. When the music is fast enough, there exists an Archimedean point in the crowd, a correct person to push, that could catalyze a pit that will not stop for the rest of the show. My friends and I had this pathetic four-person mosh going when I accidentally pushed a guy in front of me. The following chain of pushes happened like clockwork. The size of the pit was snowballing, and I could not stop smiling at what we had created. By the second track, the pit was taking on a serpentine shape, slowly inching its way to the stage from where we’d started in the centre-back. By the third track, the snake had exploded in all directions, the mosh was a red giant, engulfing every planet regardless of volition. 

The rest of the show was a genuine blur. The setlist is unknowable and honestly hardly matters with this type of band. I was being thrashed around the entirety of the Club Soda floor, there were no limits to where the washing machine would shoot me. Occasionally, my eyes would fix on the stage enough to be fully bewildered by the skill being demonstrated up there. I got to catch a few of Brian Chippendale’s iconic stick flips that he throws in mid-200-BPM-breakdown without skipping a beat. The visuals on the screen behind the band went from vibrating stills of elaborate cartoon nonsense into sprawling animations of uncontrollable battlefields and other zany antics. It matched the music incredibly well.

The band took only one break, while Brian Gibson fixed something with the equipment. Chippendale stood up and started doing what was essentially stand-up comedy with six layers of vocal effects and a mask from an undiscovered student slasher film. He recounted a story about a lost spaghetti noodle inside one of their amps, while the mic was still deep in his mouth and every word still crushed my skull with walls of sound. He also shouted out the 1972 Italian song ‘Prisencolinensinainciusol,’ which was written in gibberish to sound like American English. He asked the crowd a few times very casually if we knew what he was talking about, he could not remember the name of the song.

When the band stopped playing for the last time, and the crowds shuffled outside together, it became evident that I had done some serious damage to my hearing. A nearby dep became infested with thirsty people yelling into each other's faces trying to be heard. The ringing added an eeriness to the world. I could not even tell what song was playing from the speaker above me. A man at the cash commented that he expected the show to be louder. I’ve meandered on this comment quite a bit over the week. It took three full days for the ringing to leave my ears, how could that possibly have been his takeaway? 

From now on I might wear earplugs to noise shows, since I’d really prefer to be able to hear in my 50s, but if anything is going to deafen me permanently, I think Lightning Bolt live is not a bad pick. 

Under the soft amber glow of candlelight at The Balcony, Toronto-based collective Lavender Town delivered a soulful night that blurred the lines between jazz and hip-hop. 

Their performance, consisting of jazz renditions of MF DOOM classics and hip-hop tunes, transported the audience into an intimate, musical atmosphere that felt both familiar and freshly reimagined.

Opening with “All Caps” and “Doomsday” the band set the tone with mellow notes and complex rhythms. The saxophonist, Lazar Miric, took a moment to speak directly to the crowd, jokingly delivering a thank you message in French. Despite his flawless accent, he quipped that it would be the extent of his French for the night, a playful interaction that perfectly matched the lighthearted, cosy atmosphere.

The warmth of the setting, paired with the crisp fall night outside, created an ideal backdrop for the meshing of jazz and hip-hop. The venue's intimate candle lighting amplified the richness of the music, letting every note linger in the air. It was the kind of night that made you realise how naturally jazz and hip-hop intertwine. MF DOOM’s beloved production style and clever wordplay were replaced by the soulful improvisation of jazz, but the essence of his music remained intact.

Lavender Town wasn’t confined to just DOOM's catalogue. As the set progressed, they introduced jazz interpretations of hip-hop tracks such as Kendrick Lamar’s “Untitled 05” and Anderson .Paak’s “Come Down”. Their take on “American Boy” by Estelle was a standout moment, as the audience was seen mouthing the words while the band effortlessly blended jazz with the popular hip-hop track. 

The band was a dynamic and engaging unit, with each member having their time to shine. Miric’s saxophone often led the way, with melodic exchanges between him and Kae Murphy’s trumpet. Solos from each instrument also flowed naturally throughout the set. A highlight of the night was during their cover of “One Beer”, where drummer Ambrose Veno’s tight, punchy rhythms stole the show, highlighting his skill and control.  At one point, when Jen Lo on keyboard took over, the bandmates even crouched down to let her shine, a visual cue that underscored the collaborative spirit and balance within the group.

Lavender Town also surprised the crowd with original compositions, adding a personal touch to the night while staying true to the show’s theme. “The Blame Game”, an original from Miric, fit right into the vibe, blending the rhythms of hip-hop with the soulful expressiveness of jazz.

The live orchestra setting brought something special to the hip-hop tracks. It added a layer of emotion that you don’t get from just listening to the studio version. Jazz, in its improvisational nature, thrives in live performances, and hip-hop, usually built from samples and loops, took on a fresh energy with the band’s touch. The musicians’ spontaneity kept things exciting, reminding the audience how versatile and adaptable hip-hop can be in different formats. 

By the time the night wrapped up with “Rhymes Like Dimes”, the crowd was fully immersed in Lavender Town’s captivating jazzy renditions of the hip-hop classics we know and love. 

This show was more than just an homage to MF DOOM - it was a testament to the timelessness of both jazz and hip-hop, and how beautifully they can come together in the right hands. 

The Apprentice (In Theatres October 11th 2024)

Dir: Alli Abbasi 

Starring: Jeremy Strong, Sebastian Stan, Maria Bakalova

Run Time: 122 min

    There is a standard film, mini-series or made-for-television movie about former presidents. This year’s biographical film highlight was about former President Reagan, who is considered and held up as the ideal republican candidate and a god in his own party, by director Sean McNamara. It was good but I feel that it landed with the wrong director, as McNamara holds more of a director's chair of children's films including Bratz or The Even Stevens Movie. I always wondered who would direct the film about the Trump presidency and I only have one answer, Adam Mckay. Even before what we know as the Trump presidency and a candidate with a vendetta to destroy democracy and using the platform to air his own personal grievances, there were the people who made him a real estate mogul. This is where The Apprentice from Director Alli Abbasi comes in, to take a look at 1980’s Donald Trump and his important relationship with Roy Cohen, and others, that would shape him to be the man he is today.  

    Donald Trump (Sebastian Stan) as a real estate man wanted to make a name for himself, and show his father Fred Trump Sr (Martin Donovan) that he can become successful all on his own ambitions. He also had a vision for New York to make it filled with opulent buildings, and that it would get rid of the crime and grime that befell the city in the 80’s, and put New York’s reputation back on the map. The features would be opulent hotels and one of the biggest buildings, according to him, Trump Tower. He was tasked with being the rent collector for his dad’s properties, most tenants had disdain for him and his father. As well, his family faced a barrage of comments from New Yorkers that they were not being fair when it came to renting properties and held discriminatory tactics against African American tenants. Given this barrage of comments, which also included litigations in court, and the fact that Donald wanted to build more, he would need a friend in a high place. 

    Enter Roy Cohen (Jeremy Strong) lawyer and prosecutor who would take Trump under his wing, and act as a legal friend and fixer. His rules for success in life are attack, attack and attack, admit nothing while denying everything, finally claim victory and never admit defeat. As their relationship continued Trump would get more ambitious with his projects including a casino in Atlantic City, which Cohen did not support because his finances were catching up to him including his debts. Cohen later on would become one of the many victims of the AIDS epidemic, which put a strain on their friendship as Trump no longer wanted to associate with him and kept him at a distance. Cohen would call Trump out on his depravity towards their friendship, Cohen by no means a saint as his AIDS memorial quilt included the words bully, coward and victim. 

    Another relationship that is discussed in this film is Ivana Trump (Maria Bakalova) his first wife who also acted as a business partner normally from the design standpoint. It can be seen from behind the scenes that Trump had affairs on the side, and there is also a scene in the film that takes personal liberties where Donald forced himself on Ivana against her will. This scene caused a commotion that would lead the Trump Team to unsuccessfully put out a cease and desist order against the film. We see his relationship with his brother Fred Trump JR, where his brother suffered from alcoholism given Trump's strong stance on sobriety from alcohol today. There is a scene around the end of the film where he uses Fred Trump Sr's ailing health and mental capacity to sign documents that were only beneficial to his son Donald and his real estate ambitions. 

    Director Alli Abbasi sets the tone of the 80s well through the ascetic of the filmmaking looking like a home movie and the soundtrack to put you in the era. Both Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong deliver notable performances that will possibly receive some recognition come award season.  At the end of all of this, we can see who made Donald Trump the man he is today and the one word that comes to mind through his relationships and the way he uses them is depravity. It’s the same formula he has been running his presidential campaigns with, his own personal gripes and grievances with a blunt disregard for those he hurts along the way. His vitriol rhetoric has stoked fear and division in the United States of America. Maybe we don’t need a Trump presidency movie and we can move forward to a better future instead of remembering the past.  

The scariest words a music journalist can hear have to be, “Sorry, you’re not on the list.” Which is how my evening began after walking up the steep stairs from Parc Avenue to the will-call window at Théâtre Fairmount this past Friday night. Frantically texting and emailing anyone who could remedy this situation for me, I spent an anxious twenty minutes before doing what I never like to do, but when dealing with a sold-out show it is sometimes the only thing left to do. “Is there anyone else I could speak with?” I politely asked the woman at the window, not wanting to come off as some middle-aged male Karen, but also not wanting to assume that I was not going to get into this show. Luckily for me, she was able to find someone who could quickly rectify the situation with the most wonderful words a music journalist can hear, “CJLO? I thought you were on the list. Here, I’ll just add you,” and with that, he stamped my wrist and the panic was over. 

By the time I made it through the doors, the opener SLUGBUG was already playing and although I was not quite sure what I was looking at, I was intrigued. The first thing that jumped out was the large, spinning wheel of coloured lights at the back of the stage. While I can neither confirm nor deny that this was a kaleidoscopic flux capacitor that was used as a wormhole to travel through time, the music filling the room did sound like it was coming from a place and time in the future - a fusion of electro-punk, folk and prog that heightened the mood in the theatre. The truth is that like all great New York art it feels timeless, like Walt Whitman or Patti Smith. Decked out in black leather pants and a sleeveless t-shirt, Paul D. Millar (aka SLUGBUG) alternated between electric guitar and synths, with some other sampler/keyboard type machine adding sounds and effects to the music. There was also a reel-to-reel tape machine that might have been recording the whole thing, playing some background accompaniment or simply just for decoration. It didn’t matter really because it balanced out the stage wonderfully, whatever it was doing. Announcing songs with intros like, “This song is about computers,” Millar brought a refreshing, unpretentious approach to his music and made for a joyous engagement with the audience, most of whom I assumed were also learning about him for the first time. Before playing his final song, “Boogie Collapse (Lego Breath, Deuxi​è​me Tableau)”, Millar decreed that we, “got to boogie while you can,” and boogie we did. Witnessing SLUGBUG was a reminder that it is important to keep an open mind as we move through life and experience new things and it is definitely important to listen to people who come back to share a sample of the future with our primitive minds. 

Next up was The Lemon Twigs - the musical project of brothers Brian and Michael D’Addario - and from the moment they walked on stage it was obvious that something special was about to happen. They quickly got into place - with Danny Ayala on bass and Reza Matin on drums - and in a flash, jumped into the opening number, the excellent “My Golden Years”, the first single and lead-off track from 2024’s A Dream Is All We Know. Over the next few songs, the brothers would trade off lead vocal duties and prove why they are the current kings of power pop. Then something truly magical happened, as each member switched to a different instrument, Brian taking the bass from Ayala, who would go to sit behind the electric piano, and Michael giving his guitar to Matin before settling in behind the drum kit, they raised the level of energy in the room with a killer one-two punch of “Any Time Of Day” off 2023’s Everything Harmony and “I Wanna Prove to You” off their 2016 debut album Do Hollywood. The amped-up versions of these crowd favourites had the whole room dancing and singing along, so much so that the floor was bouncing beneath my feet. If there was any doubt that we were experiencing something special, it was eradicated in this moment, and from that point on there was no looking back, The Lemon Twigs had turned it up to 11 and their adoring fans were along for the ride. The banter between songs also revved up, as the brothers joked with and about the crowd, and threw in cheeky comments like, “We found this one in a damp closet, put it on the record player, ripped it off and stole it,” before diving into “They Don’t Know How to Fall in Place” the second single from their latest album. 

One of the things that I was most excited about from this show was the cover songs that they would pepper into the set. Having seen some of the covers done at other shows on the tour, like the Rolling Stones’ deep cut “I'd Much Rather Be With the Boys” in Cologne, Germany or “Transparent Day” by The West Coast Pop Art Experimental Band in Dublin, Ireland, what would we get here in Montréal? Not only would we get an excellent choice cut, but we’d get my favourite kind, a song and a band that I did not know. When Brian donned a harmonica harness I was curious what was coming and then when Michael announced that they were gonna try and do a song by The Choir I got giddy. As they tore through “I Only Did It ‘Cause I Felt So Lonely” by this lost Cleveland, Ohio proto-power pop band, it highlighted just how much The Lemon Twigs are connected with the forebearers of the type of music they create. They would play a handful of other songs from their impressive catalogue as well as a new, unreleased number, “You Are Still My Girl”, before bringing the set to a triumphant conclusion that would “leave us with something to rock and roll to”, as they exploded into the opening riffs of “Rock On (Over and Over)”.

For the encore Brian returned to the stage alone for an acoustic set of “Corner of My Eye”, which became an incredible 580-part harmony sing-along, “If You Give Enough” and “When Winter Comes Around”. The simple stripped-down versions of these songs showed just how stunning Brian’s voice is and how beautiful music bonds people together. After a rousing ovation, Brain invited the rest of the boys back on stage for one more number. Del Shannon’s “Runaway” was the perfect way to end this perfect night. Another great cover, another great sing-along and another reason why this was a night that will not be forgotten any time soon by the people lucky enough to have gotten in.