Bands (and bad weather)

Another grey day. After such a long, snowy winter, the recent low temperatures and changeable skies frustrate more than they really should. (To the point where a woman at the laundromat this morning blamed natural phenomena for overnight riots sparked by the killing of a teen by police! Hmm - impoverished neighbourhood, police with a history of racial profiling (my personal favourite was when Montreal cops tried to arrest a couple of black homeowners cleaning out their garage on suspicion of robbing the house). I think there's a lot more flame than rain going on here).

But on to lighter topics.

Montrealers are spoilt for choice when it comes to the arts and cultural activities. Music festivals, film festivals, comedy festivals; even streets randomly blocked off for all manner of celebrations from Saint's Days to fashion sales. This last week, I took in around 10 bands over three days (granted, most were seen as part of the Osheaga music festival on one of those days). But it was the non-festival bands that had the bigger impact. Firstly, Jeff and I went to hear Canadian band Wolf Parade last Sunday. Clashing as this date did with the first of the two-day festival, I remember thinking the crowd would be modestly-sized. It wasn't! Rarely do I feel more like a local than when I attend a music show in Montreal. The crowds are passionate, attentive, gracious - the first time I was 'shooshed' at a rock show was here, when a tiny, eager crowd at Main Hall in '05 strained to hear the emotion in Matt Berninger (of the National)'s whispered phrases.

Wolf Parade rock; dramatically and thrillingly. The 'prog rock' label gets bandied about now and again (though, really, you don't have to do too much to get slapped with that: Keyboards? Check. Shape-shifting songs? Check. Token eleven-minute track with ultra-esoteric name (such as 'Kissing the Beehive') and keening guitars? Check. Mysterious barefoot, white-clad band-member who dances delicately behind a synth-shaped object but doesn't appear to do much at all? Check. (Ok, so I don't think that's a prog rock requisite, but maybe it should be). The band were elegant and explosive; the crowd very appreciative.

The next day I went out to Parc Jean-Drapeau for day two of Osheaga. I don't know if it was the threatening weather or the high bar set the night before, but I wasn't as engaged by anything here (and realised once there that I didn't really know many of the acts, anyway!) Jamie Liddell was ace, but lost some fans with a wandering solo electro-dj number in the middle of his set (then commented sheepishly, 'can you tell I've been living in Berlin?'), the Weakerthans were solid and lovely, and otherwise it was the quiet folkies like Matt Costa and Neil Halstead I enjoyed more. Maybe rock festivals aren't so much for me anymore - I was wishing badly I'd brought my ear plugs when the Black Keys were playing.

If the Black Keys needed to check their bass, Radiohead was doing beautiful things with theirs two days later. Back at Parc Jean-Drapeau, the ground was a mudbath after rain and two days of festival-going hoofs. Jeff had sensibly brought some dollar-store ponchos and plasticy thing to sit on (bless!), which made ALL thee difference. We got in, found a spot under a tree at the periphery of the packed hillside (35 000 people were doing the same) and dug in our smeared feet for dear life. The conditions certainly made for some entertainment - making it to the loos, then the beer tent, then back to base camp without taking a slide was cause for considerable celebration. I was really impressed by the clarity of sound, and the fact that just Thom Yorke's voice and an acoustic guitar in that huge open space commanded such intimacy. And it was a beautiful setting, with the city in the background, a yellow moon toppling off a skyscraper corner, and fireworks snapping and shining (a regular occurance here, it seems). Very special.