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The Tom Fun Orchestra and Amanda Mabro at le Petit Campus was a wild and wonderful experience! The show started a tad late, after I hurriedly shuffled upwards through the blizzard at an incline of 45 degrees up the steep and slippery slope of St. Laurent, but the waiting period provided a chance for me to get the best seat in the house: a quaint little table with 2 chairs for me and my photographer right at the front! The atmosphere was cozy, with a small but nicely-lit stage occupying the back wall and ample dancing space separating the stage from the seating area.

Amanda Mabro took the stage in a modest but classy black dress along with her partners in crime known only as “The Cabaret Band.” They started the show off with a big and loud song that encapsulated the very essence of cabaret with a ragged edge of garage. With gusto and flair she belted out a series of darkly dramatic melodies with a powerful, low voice that suited the swing-style drums and old-timey silent-film-cabaret piano perfectly. I was happy to have found an excellent Canadian artist to feature on The Marvelous Darkness!

When at last The Tom Fun Orchestra appeared onstage, I was surprised they all fit. The eight-piece band squeezed onto the stage along with their drum set, bass, two guitars, trumpet, violin, banjo and accordion. With such a combination of instruments, one might have expected an overdose of audacious aural output. But the metaphor of too many cooks in the kitchen—or in this case, too many musicians on the stage—was only an issue in terms of physical space. There was plenty of room in the music for all of those lovely, lovely instruments, whose sounds melded together in a harmonious confluence of Cape-Breton-based musical magnificence.

The eight-piece ensemble stormed the sound waves with a rip-roarin’ opening number full of folkish but rockin’ energy. I was surprised that the whole crowd wasn’t up on their feet from the moment the first note was struck. Fronted by the deep, gravelly voice of lead singer-songwriter “Tom Fun” (or “Robot Orbison”, according to the band’s MySpace), the band’s eclectic sound was fueled by pure Cape Breton energy. The deep and rough lead vocals were paired nicely with the female backup vocalist, whose unique voice brought an edge of modern indie-band girl-vocals to the mix. Mingling elements of folk, rock, blues, roots and punk, the band’s stage presence was both visually and aurally powerful.

Clap-along songs were vigorously clapped along to, danceable songs were vigorously danced along to, and sing-able choruses were vigorously sung along to. It was a fully interactive and engaging concert. Not a moment of time in any of the songs allowed my mind enough space to wander. The band held my attention consistently, which is quite a feat considering I have the attention span of half a dead gnat. Not only did they hold my attention, but I was completely, thoroughly entertained for the entire set, and found myself dreading the end of the show—or better yet, hoping the show would never come to an end. Alas, as all things do, the show eventually drew to a close, nearly ending on what I thought would be a disappointing note: a song introduced as a lullaby—not that lullabies themselves are without merit—but for a closing piece? Fortunately, my distress was done away with when they broke into an energetic closing number that left the audience feeling fulfilled and utterly satisfied. Well, I can’t speak for everyone with utmost certainty, but I would judge by the deafening chorus of “huzzahs” that the rest of the crowd felt the same as I did: cheering enough to squeeze an encore out of the band, which was also sublime.

Tom’s delightful inter-song dialogue was peppered with just the right amount of good ol’ east-coast sailor cuss words, including one song’s introduction, which consisted of: “This song is called, ‘Fuck Wednesdays. Fuck Snowstorms on Wednesdays’.” and then proceeded to play a slower, soft tune. The heavy snowstorm that night was attributed to Mother Nature being so excited about the arrival of the band that she “took a dump all over the city”. The following song was dedicated to Mother Nature, who was allegedly in the house. A vague reference to Willy Wonka was made, and a brief conversation was had between Tom and a drunken spectator. He also claimed to have written a song for us, the audience, specifically. Thanks, Tom. And thanks for the best show I’ve been to in ages. If ever offered the opportunity to behold The Tom Fun Orchestra live in concert, grab it in a firm grip and be steadfast.

It’s always an unfortunate circumstance when a writer needs to review two shows right after one another since there are only so many creative juices to be spread around. That having been said, I apologize to the Street Dogs for phoning in most of their review because I really need everything I’ve got to adequately describe how blown my mind was by The Gaslight Anthem… although, in all fairness, if your show was as good as theirs it wouldn’t be a problem. Don’t feel bad though…I’m almost certain that if Kurt Cobain and Joe Strummer resurrected and formed a six member super group that played both Nirvana and Clash songs that it still wouldn’t be as good those four young men from New Jersey were (but, to be fair, it would PROBABLY be close.)   

Though, to be fair, the show DID have openers in the form of Montreal’s own Dirty Tricks and Burlington, Ontario’s Saint Alvia. Now, I won’t lie, I was really looking forward to Dirty Tricks. Their 2007 full length Sauve Qui Peut was easily one of my favorite records of that year, yet before now I had somehow missed every opportunity I had to catch them live. As it turns out, that may not have been a bad thing…as while the band was tight as all hell; I found their performance relatively dry. Almost as if they knew that the majority of the room was not there to see them and they were reacting in kind. They didn’t appear to have any genuine love for what they were doing, which made it really hard to enjoy it. I acknowledge that it was good, but a little more care would have been nice.

On the other hand, Saint Alvia, who I’d been a vocal non-fan of since I first caught them at Warped Tour in 2007 (back when they were still The Saint Alvia Cartel), were actually a lot more solid than I ever remember them being. After seeing the band open for folk punk legends Against Me! last September, I found my biggest critique of the band was that they kept trying to bounce from genre to genre, never really finding a foothold in any of them. This time around, it appears as if they’ve settled on a groovy, reggae influenced “Clash meets The Hold Steady” sound that they pulled off quite well. While they still aren’t my cup of tea (mostly since I already love The Hold Steady AND The Clash) and their second guitarist still REALLY wants to be Joe Strummer (to the point of embarrassment), at least this time they were consistent and their growth over the last half a year is evident as well. They’re not quite there yet, but they are showing definite improvement.

Which brings us to the headliners and the reason I finally broke my stigma surrounding going to shows at La Tulipe (which, despite being horrendously out of the way, turns out to actually be a really great venue), New Brunswick, New Jersey’s The Gaslight Anthem. When I first heard of these guys in 2007 with their debut full length Sink or Swim, I suspected that for the first time in a long time I had something special on my hands. Just a short year later they released their second record, The ’59 Sound and by that point I was POSITIVE that I might have found that one band that in will be selling out arenas in ten years and I will get to say “neener neener, I saw them when…” However, success on record and success when playing live are two monstrously different things. However, after being lucky enough to attend one of the record release shows for The ’59 Sound in August I could rest comfortably knowing that what may possibly be the most earnest rock band to come out of the east coast punk scene in the last ten years was just as tight, earnest and downright SOULFUL live. However, going into this performance I was left wondering…”was their awesomeness entirely dependent on the special status of the show? Was what I saw then the norm, or will this be a paint by numbers, 50 minute set full of new stuff and not much substance?” As it turns out, and answer to all of those was an emphatic NO. As the band took the darkened stage, singer/guitarist Brian Fallon addressed the audience as if they were old friends…”man…its dark in here…lemme tell you a ghost story from New Jersey…” before the full band launched into (59 Sound lead off track) “Great Expectations” and set the standard for the rest of the evening. Playing for well over an hour, the band managed to not only run through ALL of The ’59 Sound but the entirety of their Senor and the Queen EP (also from 2008) as well, in addition to four fan favorites from Sink or Swim (“We Came to Dance”, “Boomboxes and Dictionaries”, “The Navesink Banks” and “I’da Called You Woody, Joe”.) Through all of that, they never once let the intensity fall below and dull roar and the few breaks they did take were filled with Fallon’s innocent brand of witty stage banter. While saying he “worked the crowd” would be a somewhat inappropriate choice of words in this case, he made it clear that he in no way held himself above those in the crowd as he addressed everyone in attendance as friends and equals. If I were sharing a beer with him, I would expect there to be nothing different.

This connection to the audience and acknowledgement of their past is particularly important given how unbelievably huge this band will be in a very short time. They already went from being complete unknowns to “the next big thing” in under a year and in a few months they’ll be opening for their idol (and predominant musical influence) Bruce Springsteen in front of eighty thousand people in England. I can’t even imagine where they’ll end up after that, but I will say that a year ago they were “the next Against Me!” and I can safely say that at this point it’s more like “the next Rolling Stones.”  Now before you go calling “bullshit” on me, I’ll ask if YOU have ever seen a band play a city for the first time in their three year career and have the entire 700+ person crowd sing along to every single word? I think not. 

Il Motore, despite the slightly sketchy location, is well equipped to put on a rather good show. Being fairly new to the concert-going scene, I (yet again) showed up obscenely early, once more misinterpreting “doors open at 8” as “show begins at 8”. Alas. On the bright side, I definitely had the best seat in the house: a front row table all to myself. After waiting for a good hour (and a half), the opening act hit the stage. I had seen their name on the poster outside and wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Dead Messenger. I am a very open-minded individual and was all set for a good ol’ black-metal opening act, but I was surprised that a band with such a bleak name could be so… non-bleak. I get the name. “Don’t shoot the messenger”. Ha ha ha. Well, I’m glad they did shoot the messenger in this case, because apparently a Dead Messenger can rock--something fierce!

Although they had a rather generic rock sound, Dead Messenger rocked the crowd with blazing 1970’s-esque riffs played beautifully on a vintage Les Paul through a sweet Marshal stack. The lead singer was the only member of the group with a distinct look. The lead guitarist, albeit an awesome musician, stood on the stage in rather grungy (and not intentionally grungy) clothing, and the bassist and drummer were plainly attired—not that that necessarily matters in rock n’ roll, but a cohesive look does draw one’s eye more magnetically to the stage. Regardless, their sound was very nice: near perfect balance, except for slightly quiet vocals. A wonderful big, fat fender bass sound rocked the foundation of sweeping 70’s style songs that were thoroughly catchy and easy to sing along to. Their songs were good, they were played well, but they lacked that essential secret ingredient. There was nothing particularly exceptional about this band. The guitarist, by the end, was absolutely drenched in the sweat of his musical passion. Awesome. I suppose that was exceptional.

After a fifteen-or-so minute break, Parlor Mob began to set up on the spacious, bodacious stage. An interesting thing about going to live shows in small venues is that the members of the band are seated amongst the audience, unbeknownst to the waiting crowd. What a surprise it was when that guy who’d been behind me got up on stage. This band had a definite look. They looked like rock stars, which is a good quality in a rock band. Long, Led-Zeppelin/Deep-Purple/Black Sabbath etc. –style hair, the 70’s jeans, the shirts. A tad pretentious perhaps, but the image definitely fit the sound—which I personally loved. Parlor Mob is not a 1970’s cover band, but their songs do sound like they came right out of the mid 70’s, a time when Floyd and Sabbath were rockin’ the sound waves and changing the face of rock and roll. Had they been around forty years ago, I have no doubt that they would have been a highly successful (maybe slightly obscure) progressive rock band.

They were a five-piece group, with two guitarists (neither of whom was truly lead nor rhythm) who shared solos and background chords in perfect balance, a bass player (who never showed his face to my side of the audience (he was rockin’ out facing the drummer the whole time), the aforementioned drummer, and a vocalist who dabbled on the keys and harmonica at appropriate times.

One of the guitarists chose to rock upon a wicked cool Fender Strat (I’m sorry if this particular jargon is cliché—I just can’t help it when discussing matters of the rocking and the rolling.) He looked like Jimmy Page and rarely could his face be seen for it was veiled in a curtain of golden-blond head-banging bangs. The other guitarist (who unfortunately sported an almost emo look) played a Gretsch guitar and, questionable appearance aside, played very well. Together, the guitarists’ sound was akin to that of Deep Purple in Machine Head. There were moments of Brian May in the guitar solos too. I don’t know what sort of bass the bassist played because he had his back to me the entire show, but he certainly was into his music and it showed. A lovely fat (and phat) bass sound (oh, so very Black Sabbath-y) filled out the well-balanced ensemble of instruments. The drummer had wonderful drum-skills, reminiscent of Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath and Uriah Heep. I will be referencing and comparing this band to many classic 70’s bands. This is a good thing. The last member of the band was the vocalist, who I took to be the keyboardist at the beginning, because he opened the show with a truly groovy prog rock tremolo ditty on the keys, then stepped in front of the microphone and blew me away with that something that makes a band unique: his voice was far from ordinary. Again, I use a comparison, but only because I cannot replicate in words the sound of his voice. It was a combination of Robert Plant, Geddy Lee of Rush (only in range), and even echoed the sweeping powerful pipes of Ian Gillan of Deep Purple at times. Basically, he had the True Voice of Rock and Roll.

The songs tended more towards the blues-rock genre, but occasionally broke out into some drawn-out, long, mellow, chill, prog songs that started slow, low and quiet but built magnificently to marvelous climaxes with the aid of Pink Floyd-y ethereal keys. None of the members overshadowed any of the others. They did truly work together in (brace yourself for a bad pun and cliché) perfect harmony. If you get a chance to see Parlor Mob (assuming) you like 1970’s classic rock, go see them.

Tokyo Police Club’s concert last night… what can I say? Not much.  Seriously the problem I had with them is one that I am finding I am having with most indie rock bands these days. The word I would use to sum it all up: generic.

The night started with Ruby Coast, the opening act.  They put on an OK performance, meaning they were more or less pleasant, doing nothing to really stimulate or get anyone jumping or swaying for that matter.  Their sound doesn’t differ that much from Tokyo Police Club…again, generic.

So, if you were busy chatting with someone by the bar or even reading a book, as I saw one chick doing, the bands did a quick switch and you might have wondered, I am still listening to the opening band? …but that guy at the front with the thick long messy hairdo looks different and…wait, it’s Dave Monks.  To be honest, because of that discombobulating moment, I couldn’t even tell you what they opened with because it was the most boring opening I have ever seen.  Monks didn’t yell at the crowd, or do anything to get them remotely excited to see them on stage.  It actually could have been a cover band lip-syncing the band until you really took a gander at them.  Actually not once did the band members ever address the crowd during their performance. 

The crowd itself kept you intrigued because of the wild melange of people.  You had your rich upper crust Ugg wearing kids, to the Plateau born and raised artsy kids, with some middle aged hyper cool dudes mixed in. The band managed to arouse the ‘every age imaginable’ crowd with their second tune of the night, which was “Nature of the Experiment.”  Yet when they played “Tessellate” midway through the performance, no one seemed to even notice that they were playing one of their most popular hits.  I blame this on their “hurry I need to get out of here” type of playing.  It was quite curious to see how this band never stops to breathe. You really got the feeling that it was as if they were rushing to get it over with.  It wasn’t until they played “Citizens of Tomorrow” that the crowd managed to belt out a “woohoo” and give a real round of applause.

The awesomely red walled, black curtained, antique chandeliered Sala Rossa was packed to the ceiling last night, however Tokyo Police Club did little to get give what they got.