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Words: Kane

Photos: Witt

You should know this about Calgary’s new lo-fi/post punk/avant society: Three bands are outstanding. Four or five others are very good and one has the best name. They are Puberty; a three piece, all girl outfit with a drummer, Jen Clement, as lead singer, Sydney Koke on bass and Nicole Brunel playing guitar. While the songs are sprawling, arty and dirty with stop/start change-ups aplenty – awkward is today’s smooth and Puberty’s stage presence encompasses this. This is not a timid, shoe-gazer, every Michael Cera movie kind of awkward, though. It’s a fierce, ‘just got way hotter over the summer and got better clothes’ coming out party. They also had wicked war paint for good measure.

Mount Analogue considers themselves in the Avant Garbage musical bracket. They rip off Devo, dedicate songs to pedophiles and openly tap their junk in sound check to pass in tights. Singer, Cian Haley has the swagger of Jack Skellington (the Pumpkin King) from Nightmare before Christmas and the band sounds like a Tim Burton stop motion film if you added a warbling synthesizer. The unapologetic and almost mocking swagger of the band is what builds intrigue. Like Ween or Mr. Bungle in the 90s, the musicianship is astonishing, unpredictable and genuine throughout the ruckus.

Japandroids drove through a blizzard to kick off their North American tour here and threw down a powerful set for a meek Thursday audience. They are playing several big dates this summer, including Sasquatch festival, thus making this Palomino appearance a boastful feather in cap of anyone who stuck around.

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Written by Brendan Kane

Photos by Jessica Wittman

Alone is not lonely. You will really only be alone in the moment after people leave and up until you are again accompanied. Loneliness is in the moments that you find yourself in transit, longing for more and the ideas for change are swirling autumn leaves through Ferris wheel spokes. Loneliness breeds the best change. Obama leadership in America, the New Jersey shore come summer and Bruce Springsteen inspiring hero rockers, the Gaslight Anthem - all are consequences of loneliness.

Much has been made of the Jersey Shore Sound of late as the times begin to crave the poetic desperation, romantic ill repute and triumphant human resistance found in Gaslight Anthem lyrics. Just by listening to the Navesink Banks as it hauntingly mirrors Springsteen’s Sandy will have you shot to a place you have never been to. But if that place is a primarily a ghost town, how does it manage to develop a famed sound identity?

According to Gaslight drummer, Benny Horowitz and guitarist Alex Rosamilia, Jersey’s musical attitude is a symptom of the effect unruly, fair weather tourists have on its locals. Unfortunately for Horowitz, tourists are regarded scornfully as “bennys” (for being from Bergen. Essex. Newark or New York) or “shoobies” because they wear black socks, shoes on the beach, carry their picnic lunches in shoe boxes and inadvertently helping rock music along.

“People on the shore have to deal with this weird vibe every year when (bennies) come down for the summer with big attitudes and kind of ruin their community,” said Horowitz. “The beach is 75 per cent empty during the fall and winter. It’s all summer houses and nothings open – or if it is, it closes early. The shore is creepy and desolate.”

“I think the Shore Sound is about the escapism and a sense of desperation; like, ‘I need to get out of here,” added Rosamilia. “It’s a claustrophobic place to live; I spent most of my life wanting to get out.”

Although Springsteen is a major influence, Rosamilia says that few shore influenced bands actually influenced his music. The Gaslight Anthem hails from New Brunswick, NJ which is famed for its fervent basement punk and hardcore scenes that birthed bands like Pavement, the Bouncing Souls and Sticks & Stones. The DIY punk attitude seen in these bands is practically strengthened by the prosthetic, cheesy cover bands and bar goers on the boardwalk. Underground and hidden from unwelcomed ears is the best way to keep art and music organic; getting popular is just a result of being good.

“Basement shows have a really strong thread holding it together and there are actually less venues now than when I was a part of it,” said Horowitz. “Kids just keep moving in and they keep redeveloping houses. It won’t die.”

Gaslight’s inception was only three years ago, yet they have already recorded two albums and have received world-wide acclaim for last year’s release, the ’59 Sound. Horowitz received an offer from friend to jam with singer Brian Fallon who was already gigging full-time.

“I remember the night I heard that band and heard Brian. I thought, ‘this kid can really sing and write songs’ – but I’m not in love with this band – imagine what he could do with a band with balls behind him,” said Horowitz. “It seems that a lot of the real, traditional singer/songwriters always start out in punk bands.”

This summer’s tour is the Gaslight Anthem’s most expansive to date. They will share a stage with the Cure and My Bloody Valentine at Coachella before taking off for a summer in Europe. When you help make up the best North American music culture in 50 years – the world can’t be all that lonely.

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Photos by Jessica Wittman

Story One:

by Brendan Kane

West riding lorries ‘round Kooteney way. A dozen fine colleagues and a rocky hostel stay.

Lightning strikes the face of a fiddle and dueling banjos pluck in no where’s middle.

Swap a week for a night, so going gets weird and the weird gets right. We saw 25 reflections in crisp mountain moonlight.

Like eyes that you meet, the cold frozen ground replaced the soles of the shoes on our feet.

Just when you start to mean what you say and say what you mean, the real truth is that things aren’t what they seem.

Life ain’t that real, it’s more like dreams because or else you just taste coffee with no sugar and cream.

Life is in memory of what you see and what you hear; we’re just walking the line between faith and fear.

So stop at nothing - while you’re here - and the light in the tunnel won’t ever be near.

Enter each room to see only friends. There’s a smiling face, style and grace to carry you around raging river bends.

I awake to the kiss of Missoula morning glow, one tin of beer, and Old Crow Medicine Show.

Story Two:

By Jessica Wittman

The greatest hustle in all this world went down like this: tunes cranked and smiles eating our faces, nine of us piled in for the mid November road trip. We sped through the night landing in a small mountain town to rest our souls with a heavy night of abuse.
The next morning brought us to the border where our vehicle was detained for over an hour while officers of the United States of America (God Bless Her?!) tried to sniff out a reason to not allow us in. We were not to be denied! Goodness and will of thought prevailed and we were soon on our way. This was our weekend and a sweet lady by the name of Wilma was beckoning us like none other had.
The hours fell by and before it even happened we had rolled into Missoula. Montana. A few blocks away from the crux of our journey, we found lodging. After food, drinks and good jokes with friends we set out for what will remain as a pinnacle evening in our lives. The energy radiated from within the Wilma Theatre as solo and headlining act Old Crow Medicine Show commanded the stage.
The music was not only heard but also felt against your sweat stained cheek. The violin pierced its way into crevices barely big enough between the swaying and crooning bodies. Voices grew hoarse in absolute unity and tears fell gladly for memories now past.
Something was in the air and we knew we were all in this together. And we always will be …

Photo by: Tyler Stalman

What do you do?
Distributor of uncomfortable feelings
What tunes would I be listening to right now?
Sonic Youth
What’s (one of) the best things to ever happen to you?
I got a kitten
What former trend needs to make a comeback?
Hand jobs
Who’s the coolest celebrity of all time? (dead or alive)
Its a three way tie between pee wee herman, andy dick and
pauly shore
What should you be doing instead of answering these questions?
Cleaning up the blood
What or who is the creepiest thing in the world?
Its a three way tie between pee wee herman andy dick and
pauly shore

Photo by: Tyler Stalman

What do you do?
I am an Editor for Film/Television, Writer/Director, Actor, Podcaster and sometimes i travel through time and inhabit the body of a different person each time i “leap”. It can get pretty hairy, but if i put things right, maybe my next leap will be the leap home.
What tunes would I be listening to right now?
Right now I am addicted to podcasts that have little to nothing to do with music… Dan Carlins Hardcore History, Jordan Jesse Go! Radiolab, You Look Nice Today etc… but music wise it would be stuff like Michael Rault, Dead Meadow and The Sword.
What’s (one of) the best things to ever happen to you?
Del Close Improv Marathon in New York this year. I flew there on my own for a 10 day vacation and got to spend 3 of those days hanging with some of my comedy idols, who if I were to name, would leave readers feeling confused. Matt Besser, Matt Walsh, Ian Edwards, Jack McBrayer, Doug Benson, Jon Glaser!? See, I told you it would be confusing… regardless, they are some of the funniest people alive and that’s what matters.
What former trend needs to make a comeback?
In Republican Rome, the elected officials would often fight in the front lines of a battle. I think they should bring that back.
Who’s the coolest celebrity of all time?
(dead or alive)
I am not going to hop onto this current “Vampires are Awesome” trend and say Vlad the Impaler … no no, my answer will be Jerry Orbach, The Impaler (of criminals).
What should you be doing instead of answering these questions?
Finishing the fine cut of this Corb Lund video… OH NAME DROP. HIGH FIVE PARTY.
What or who is the creepiest thing in the world?
Puppets. NOT Muppets, I am cool with those guys, but Puppets, like those new kind of puppets with the weirdo wooden heads and dumb looks on their faces. Creep city.

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Written by: Brendan Kane

Photos by: Jessica Wittman

atbt magazine issue 2

Misconstrued among download dashers, song skippers and fair-weather fans is the idea that an album is actually an audio book. For the musician, a record etches a history of the world around them. On the Rolling Stones classic, Let it Bleed, the horror of Vietnam oozed out of Gimme Shelter. In the song’s climax, guest vocalist, Merry Clayton repeatedly shrieked “Rape, murder; it’s just a shot away. It’s just a shot away” before her voice gave out prematurely on the final stanza. If you listen carefully, you can hear Mick Jagger applaud this blunder for its rawness, and to this day, that recorded moment in time gives me goose bumps.

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Written by: Magda Gorski

Photo by: Devon Boulton-Mills

Paintings by: Eric Louie

atbt magazine issue 3

I accidentally had a dream about interviewing Eric Louie before I ever saw him or met him. We were at a raging party, his name was Eugene Levy (notice the same initials—the subconscious is tricky) and there were elk fights going on in the alley. When I had the pleasure of actually meeting him and peering around his Art Central studio, I was completely awake, yet I still found his work to ride some radical phantasmagoric space in-between the past and the present, straddling time, movement and representation. The youth filled darkness, their space and anticipation immortalized; a prom night gone wrong, a plane in a dream war, a bright cigar ash burning forever – Louie paints things which sublimely evoke a certain street spirit which weave what feel like alive, real and stark images (street scenes, people in transit, visual symbols of war, homeless artifacts, portraiture) with whimsical and dreamlike streams of light and texture. Louie’s work seems to illuminate the often indescribable ghostly moods and nostalgic moments that linger long atop, behind and beneath waking life- he takes them, and he traps them in paint, where they are never let go. His work is striking, and original, and we absolutely demand that you go look at it.

atbt: How you would characterize your work for our readers?

ERIC: I primarily work in oils and watercolours. My style mixes biomorphic abstractions with elements of realism. I gravitate to either end of the spectrum depending on my desired goal.

atbt: How do you approach a blank canvas?

ERIC: My process is fairly unpredictable, I know what I like to paint but I try to keep the target blurred to maintain freshness and a sense of discovery. The paintings feel planned at times but in actuality they develop as I go. My experience guides me but I always try to remain open to take things in a new direction when the opportunity presents itself, either by my own devices or by accident. I’m really into intuitive responses mixed with moments of deliberation.

atbt: What has been inspiring your work recently?

ERIC: My recent body of work, which is still in production, involves aviation war scenes and icons of the past sixty years or so. They stemmed from conversations with my grandfather, a WW2 veteran and his recollections of his missions over Germany and Poland. They attempt to emulate some sense of being on a mission over enemy territory. They talk about heroism, patriotism, nationalism, memory, glory and pain. They’re not meant to be overtly didactic but to serve as renditions of dreams of past generations.

atbt: Many of your paintings are saturated with a feeling of movement, atmosphere and scene. How do you approach the creation of these characters and places?

ERIC: Most of my work speaks from the third person. I suppose there is always that sense of voyeurism present; at rare times allowing the viewer to participate in the scenes. The subject matter attempts to address different aspects of culture, history and personal experience. Over the past several years my work has infused elements of urban living, motion, time and space, youth and social development, poverty, war and nostalgia.

atbt: How do you think your audience relates to this idea of memory or nostalgia, of ‘being there’?

ERIC: Our culture is fairly nostalgic up to a few generations. I think it is important to address the human need for maintaining an identity. Each of us is seemingly small and insignificant but precious. A lot of what I paint is personal nostalgia but I feel the human experience allows most of us who have grown up in this culture to identify with it in some fashion.

atbt: What are all the best things?

ERIC: The very best things are meeting good, enthusiastic people with positive outlooks. You can find it in most places but it really means a lot here and now.

Check him out at his studio at 1639, 12th ave SW Calgary, Alberta.

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Written and Photos by: Brian Mitchell

We live in a world of constant change. We can find information about anything and anywhere at our fingertips. Yet, the only way to get an unbiased, true experience of the world is to go and see it yourself.
In most Brazilian cities, there are areas littering hillsides that normally are not inhabited. The homes are built out of whatever is available and placed with no exact order. Meaning “shanty town” in Portuguese, favelas are large settlements of people living illegally on land or squatting. They have to steal power from the local grid and their plumbing, well, it is what it is.
The drug lords have figured out that these areas are a prime place to carry out their business finding solace in the ever-present chaos. Because favelas have a poor and eager youth population, locals are willing to do anything for money and even shoot the police for entering the neighbourhood. The people here prefer drug gangs over police who try to get them to leave.
At my hostel in Ipanema I found a poster advertising favela tours. I called them up and got on the next available tour.
A minivan drove several other backpackers, and I to the Neighborhood of Rochina (pronounced: Haw seen nah). Rochina is home to over 200 000 people and covers only a few square kilometers. After exiting the van, our guide arranged to have the local motorcycle taxis take the group to the top of the area’s only road. The road is a series of switchbacks and pot holes the size of the bike and drivers occupy whatever side of the road has the least amount of other vehicles and potholes.
At the top we received a small safety briefing which basically said do not take photos of drug activities or gang members. Other than that everything else is safe. You will see kids with kites, cardboard tubes filled with fireworks and walkie-talkies to warn other gang members of police or rival gang activity.
Main Street is a narrow walkway with little shops cropping up among the small multi-family, multi-generational shacks. We soon found ourselves surrounded by a dozen or more kids ranging from toddler to teenager. They greeted us without any fear or inhibitions. This was such a nice change from the mass paranoia surrounding North American kids causing what seems like fearful anti-social distrusting of humanity. To me, these children seemed so free so happy and not bogged down by the weight of the world. I saw such a free spirited joy in their eyes that I wanted to be a kid again and hang out here for a few years.
The cameras all came out for pictures and the kids had a blast looking at themselves on the screen. The guides will discourage you from giving out money, as they don’t want to promote begging. The kids however have found an entrepreneurial spirit and will try and sell you anything that they have found discarded. I bought tacky painting of Jesus in a gold frame, which I latter left to be recycled into the local economy.
Noticing several interesting pieces of graffiti I had to ask its significance. They serve to identify a gang’s territory with the gangs name followed by machine guns painted to say rivals will be shot if caught. This brought back the reality of the place. A young boy came by as we were leaving and I got him to pose in front of the graffiti short of as a statement that this may very well turn out to be his future, a life with less poverty for him and his family (a life that may not be longer then 25 years). Just then our guide appeared shouting “no photos, no photos.” He was followed by three guys carrying machine guns and hand grenades. I slung my camera over my shoulder, nodded and said hello politely as they passed. They nodded back and were on their way.
On our way out of the neighbourhood we passed a few gang members doing their watchful duties and around the corner sat a truckload of heavily armed police on the perimeter. I will say that they were the meanest looking cops. Apparently the military had the Rochina on lock-down the week prior to my visit. A gang stole five high-powered machine guns from an armory and the military wanted them back. The guns mysteriously showed up in a building on the edge of Rochina and the authorities were tipped off to avoid the search.
I took away from this experience a greater appreciation for the simpler things in life, an opportunity to live more in the now and less in the next. Being in a place where life has a less definite end lost in the uncertainty of tomorrow people value friends, family and every moment of now as it is all they have.
If you’re planning a trip to Rio de Janeiro, their web site is www.bealocal.com, you will love it. They provide a tour that is really able to integrate you with the environment and not show you the Favela in a safari style vehicle.
Knowing that the tour proceeds are being used to provide the children of Rochina with better options and a brighter future has inspired me to make a difference. Where ever you go, enjoy the simple things and open up to any possibility.

“Sled Island is Stampede breakfast for Calgary Culture. With so much happening, it was hard to choose. I never lost my appetite.”

The second annual Sled Island snuck in right before the Stampede to ignite Calgary’s core with culture. They went big this year by plugging art, comedy, film and music installments into seemingly every central haunt. But the luster of this year’s festival was at Mewata Field where two giant stages featured the likes of Tegan and Sarah, Broken Social Scene, The Wire, Of Montreal, Mogwai along side some of the freshest local acts. Here is some of what atbt saw in living colour.

Photos by: Tyler Stalman and Jessica Wittman

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Written and Photos by: Liz Keith

atbt magazine issue 2

OSHEAGA DAY 1

If ever there was a city for those who love live music, Montreal would have to be it. From its early heyday as a jazz mecca – due in no small part to our relaxed liquor laws and less severe racial segregation – to its present-day renown as a hotbed of indie talent, Montreal has an artistic draw that few other cities in north America can match.

This weekend brings us the Osheaga music festival, which derives its name from the Iroquois word for ‘gathering place’, taking place in Jean-Drapeau park over the August long weekend. Headliners from Iggy & the Stooges, Jack Johnson, the Killers plus numerous other favorites all take the stage under the watchful gaze of the Expo ’67 Biodome skeleton.

Sunday August 3, 2008
1.30pm – Lineups and booths galore in the misting rain, and the crowds milling about are putting their trendy patterned rubber boots to good use, while I slide through the mud in my bought-at-the-Tam-Tams sandals. This is not the most abuse they will be taking today.

2pm – Louis XIV take the stage with a wall of blues and raunch that would bleed the ears of any school marm. Not so much over the top as very to-the-point, they mince no words when it comes to what’s on their dirty, dirty minds. Just one of many bands I haven’t heard of before this weekend, and one I will definitely have to check out later on. The band certainly shows their appreciation for the sparse crowd that showed up this early in the day to see them, and gives a good show for the bobbing hipsters.

2:35ish – I saunter on over to another stage, actually in search of food but get sidetracked by a band who replaced The Foals: Montreal locals Beast, an electro-funk-metal get-up whose singer uses her powerful falsetto like a hammer uses a nail – she reminds me of an almost punk-rock Nina Simone, and looks a lot like my ex-girlfriend. I like them immediately because of the former, in spite of the latter.

3:10pm - Food in stomach and beer in hand, I wander away to check out Beast’s next-stage neighbours, La Patère Rose. Fresh from storming the 2008 Francouvertes music competitions, they are my first disappointment of the day, sad to say. What started out as one turntable + drum kit + French rap turned into what sounds like a distorted midget wailing through a megaphone with less than stellar backing music. Lead singer Fanny Bloom’s upbeat yelping was backed by bratty circus electro-punk, which, had I just read that and not heard them before, would totally make me want to check them out. Maybe I just still need to work on my French…

3:40 - A disgruntled quiet descends on the main field as hip-hop act N.E.R.D. take an extra few minutes to set up. Whatever the reason for the delay, the rapidly-increasing size of the crowd indicates this is a highly-anticipated act. I decide to stick it out.

3.50 - Losing my patience with N.E.R.D. There’s other acts I haven’t heard of that I can go – oh, no wait, here they come.

3.55pm - I stand corrected. From the second N.E.R.D. takes the stage, they do not disappoint. It was worth it to stick around and find out what they were about, if only to hear one member berate the audience for “standing around like this was a fucking R&B concert.” (In your FACE, Boyz2Men!) Other banter includes east coast-west coast baiting, although in this case it’s disparagingly comparing this crowd’s reaction with the show a few days earlier in Pemberton, BC. The crowd gives back as good as they get, Vulcan salutes in the air like they just don’t care. The show goes well.

5:10 - Catch Spiritualized as they wrap up their set slightly late, an impressively drawn-out version of Come Together as the crowd gathers for Metric. Sad I missed this.

5:30 – Playing the same stage as Louis XIV barely three hours previously, the crowd is easily five times the size for Metric. They set a good pace through their set, which includes favorites like I.O.U., Dead Disco, Poster of a Girl, Empty, and Monster Hospital. The band is energized & singer Emily Haines rocks a short blue lamé jump suit in a way that I never could.

6:15pm – The last time I heard Sharon Jones and the Dap Kings play was from a distance as I volunteered at the 2007 Calgary Folk Fest, keeping a watchful eye on the bike racks. She puts on a hell of a show, with the Dap Kings warming up the crowd before her arrival. She doesn’t stop moving, dancing, shaking, taunting the crowd if they’re not loud enough, which would be hard because you can’t *not* shake your ass while she’s on stage, and I’m glad I caught her this time.

6:44pm – The most endearing moment of the weekend happens when Jones pulls an ecstatic redheaded fan onstage, who knows all the words to the song she sings for him. He keeps mouthing “I love you” to her in appreciation, (and “Sharon-Fucking-Jones!” to his friends in the audience) and I’m reminded of the fact that no-one quite blushes the way a redhead does. Jones doesn’t hold still for the entire set, and it’s impossible not to join in.

6:55pm - A ginger-footed Sharon Jones is coaxed over to the fence after her show by fans who apparently missed it and wanted to say hi. Jones – who kicked off her shoes during her set, when they got in the way of her dancing – tip toes barefoot over the rocky ground, to share a few words and a picture, and I’m quite impressed at her approachability.

7:30pm – Cat Power’s powerful yet low-key blues torch songs are not enough to hold me after Jones’ powerhouse funk set. The abrupt mood shift sends me in search of more beer, and another act.

8 pm-ish - I can’t actually read my notes and attempts at a set list for when Iggy Pop took the stage (his first time in Montreal) with a reunited Stooges: with the original brothers Asheton (Ron and Scott) and the legendary and always-welcome Mike Watt on bass. I’m a little distracted at first by the wankers ahead of me, desperately wanting to punch the Big Haired Girlfriend in the back of the head. But I’m on my best behaviour today, lest Santa skip my house again this year. I soon forget my annoyance when the screaming starts as Iggy et les Stooges stalk onto the stage and launch into [illegible. Punk shows are not for taking notes, Poindexter]. I do seem to recall Search and Destroy, 1969, Loose, I Wanna Be Your Dog, which all get vapid recognition from the boomers and fist pumping from the punks, but then Monsieur Pop throws a wrench in the I-know-that-song love-in when he kicks into No Fun and starts to drag people onstage with the battle cry: “Fuck this, this is all bullshit, all rock and roll is bullshit – come on up here!” overwhelming security and the puny barrier. At this point I have my revenge on the stunned boomers in front of me, plowing them out of my way in order to get over the barrier (I might be small, but I have sharp elbows.) I make it over the barrier, but alas, not on stage (what will I tell the grandchildren?!) All I remember from this part is chaotic elation and a roaring wall of noise before the security guards herd the screaming hordes behind our appointed fence. I am in love, immediately and forever.

(As testament to Iggy Pop’s presence and hold over the crowd, I dare you to come up with another 61-year-old who can strip tease - during “My Idea of Fun” - and receive the response Pop does. Sweaty, punching himself repeatedly and zipper open low enough to confirm that the carpet does indeed match the drapes, the display was more seething vulnerability than rock-star posturing – I kinda feel bad for The Killers, who have to follow this.)

9:20ish - I have dragged my jaw away from the post-Stooges melee and am now huddled on the opposing hill with my final beer of the night, to recuperate and ease the pounding in my head. I have about 10 minutes of quiet (ringing in my head notwithstanding) before I’m blinded and aurally assaulted by The Killers’ performance. I’ll be honest, I’ve never been that into them, and regardless of the present circumstances, I doubt seeing them live would ever change that. Don’t get me wrong, they’re very good at what they do, but don’t really seem to stray from their tried and tested formulae of tame danceable pop dressed in 80s New Wave irony. Next to the Stooges’ raw, stripped-down and ill-lit performance, the gigantic wall of light that is the Killers’ set feels like that first blast of sunshine after stumbling out some warehouse rave at 10 in the morning, except not as purifying.

I stick around if only to say that I put in my time, and to finish my beer. I stagger home to the cot in someone’s exaggerated closet that I’ve rented, hopefully to move out of tomorrow. I am in a lot of well-earned pain right now.

OSHEAGA DAY 2
Monday August 4

3:45pm – I spent my day from the early hours moving into my new apartment, and show up a little late. I’m still exhausted, so I go in search of beer.

4pm – The Kills are one of the main bands I’m here to see, I won’t lie. They nonchalantly take the stage with “U R A Fever”, off their latest album Midnight Boom. Although I’m not disappointed by their set, there’s something a little disconcerting about hearing instruments that aren’t being played on stage – whether it was drums, bass, or random clapping, if it wasn’t Hotel’s or V.V.’s guitars, it was coming from offstage. Almost feels like cheating, but again, I still enjoyed their performance.

4:30 pm – “Some of you who have seen us live before will realize we’re being quite talkative.” For a duo that has the chemistry of giddy A.V. club nerds in their latest video for U R A Fever, they play as if the crowd wasn’t there. If it weren’t for V.V.’s almost Joplinesque flailing and slinking across the stage, you could almost call them sedate.

5pm – The pride and joy of Akron, Ohio, The Black Keys humbly take the stage and fire through songs off Rubber Factory and Thickfreakness. I’ve never seen them live before this, and had been suitably impressed with their studio work, but live they are absolutely amazing. Guitarist Dan Auerbach rocks out in a humble kind of way, while drummer Pat Carney pounds away off to the side. Their presence is unassuming and a bit low-key, but their sound fills in any empty spaces that could be left behind.

5:45pm - I leave towards the end of The Black Keys’ set, slinking over to the neighbouring stage where Gogol Bordello are getting set up. A drunk French punk plows into the crowd, ready to FSU, and when I catch the string of profanities and I know this is going to be a good show.

6:05pm – I arrived here being familiar with really only a few songs by Gogol Bordello, and it was enough to get me curious. I will leave here a total convert to their Brechtian Gypsy punk ways. Whether it’s violinist Sergey Ryabtsev and his Slayer t-shirt, the Gogol Go-Go dancers crashing their cymbals and drums, the occasional Metallica riff randomly thrown into a song, or lead singer Eugene Hutz’s manic wine-fuelled antics, they have stormed their way into my shriveled little heart. I am immensely glad I got to see this band…

6:55pm – I’ve seen her CD for sale at Starbucks but, due to a decades-long boycott of pop radio, I’ve never heard Duffy until now. While she isn’t horrible she isn’t particularly exceptional either. I give a few songs a listen before sauntering over to the MEG stage where The Go! Team are setting up.

6:56pm – I’ve been passing by this booth all bloody weekend and would be remiss not to mention it: the Durex condoms booth, where passersby can have their picture taken demonstrating their favorite sexual positions (clothed!) in front of various backdrops including a 70’s-era kitchen. The booth is an extension (!) of the bus stop ads I’ve seen around town showing models doing the same thing, dressed in awesome-ridiculous 70’s workout clothes. Only in Quebec… God I love this province.

7:24pm – The Go! Team are almost a half hour late and still haven’t gone on stage yet, due to some technical difficulties that this stage has seen its share of today…

7:30pm – The Go! Team rock out ‘The Wrath of Marcie’ on the very patient crowd – who have been waiting a half hour past the scheduled start time - and all manner of freaking out commences. I haven’t heard a lot of this band, and I like them immediately: 70’s soundtracks that sound like something from the Children’s Television Network mixed in with upbeat hiphop and indie rock. The energy is infectious – and the sheer output could power a small city.

8:15pm – Another band I’ve seen at the Calgary Folk Fest, I catch Broken Social Scene play an unusually sedate set. They plod through a few favorites like Shoreline, Fire Eye’d Boy, Love is New, and Fucked Up Kid, and I have to admit to being a bit underwhelmed, but I’ll stick it out.

9 – I’m looking forward to hearing what Cansei de Ser Sexy (“Tired of Being Sexy” in Portuguese, from a Beyoncé quote) are all about, but in the meantime I’m being entertained by a grumpy no-nonsense PA tech who is taking all the minions to task for no-one seeming to have their shit together. As much as it must suck to get yelled at in front of a crowd – from a bystander’s P.O.V., it’s a feeling reminiscent being in the same room when a friend starts fighting with their parents over some indiscretion - I’m having little sympathy when the show is this late. Tsk tsk, I say…

9:10 – Blue light, mist and a lead singer dressed like a giant multi-coloured bunch of grapes signal Cansei de Ser Sexy’s taking of the stage. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. They are immediately awesome, a great big bouncing ridiculously catchy disco punk-pop spectacle that must be seen and heard to believed. They are a fountain of uncontainable energy on the stage, and the crowd is just a massive dancing freakout. Halfway through the set, lead singer Lovefoxxx gives her grape-costume headpiece to an ecstatic fan. This exchange is adorable.

9:50 – CSS was running late, but I was really in no hurry to catch up with Jack Johnson’s set. I check it out anyways, slipping past the sing-along crowd, feelin’ good like we’re all huddled around one big cozy campfire listening to some dozy tunes and sighing collectively. He kind of reminds me of a female Sarah McLachlan for the similar effect he seems to have on an audience – everyone knows the words, sways and sings along, presumably before slipping into a coma. Not that it’s bad music – I’ve listened to all the albums of his that my mom owns – but that’s just it. Also: the literal visual song interpretation on the giant screens is kind of pissing me off (a loop of train tracks for the train part in the lyrics of “Breakdown”, etc.). Towards the end there’s a picture of a waning moon projected on the screen as Johnson sings us all to sleep with Constellations, and I say, Goodnight Moon, grab a beer and head in search of my Chromeo.

10:20: Singing their name like they were flying monkeys from Wizard of Oz, (oh-wee-oh, yeah you know it) they are Chromeo, they are here to get down, and no one loves their Montreal audience more than these guys. And no one loves them back like this crowd, though they are hard not to love: an electric funk outfit that consists of a programmer/drummer/keyboardist P-Thugg and Dave-1 on guitar, dressed in what looks like an English schoolboy nerdling outfit. The Domo-Origato funk, the beats, the catchy-cheesy lyrics, (“This song is a nickname for a girlfriend… no, not ma poulette. It’s Tenderoni,” Sigh. Also see: Bonafied Lovin’ - double sigh…) they are the last great surprise of the fest.

And thus ends Osheaga 2008. See you next year…