Canadian Music Week [Toronto, ON]

Canadian Music Week is a bit of a shit show. It's a well-timed warm up for bands on their way to SXSW, unknowns can gain exposure if selected for one of the premiere showcases, people are reminded that there is great talent in their city, and the streets are busy until nearly sunrise. Yet, for all of these virtues, the week -- which is really three days -- tends to leave a lot of people with a bad taste in their mouth.

This year's CMW was no different. It became very apparent to most attendees that CMW 2009 wasn't about breaking new and exciting bands as much as it was a corporate endeavor. There were three aspects of the festival that seemed to demonstrate this better than any others. First was the choice of Gene Simmons for the keynote address. He gave his classic "your band is a brand and I'll make you rich" tirade and had a catty back and forth with Bob Lefsetz about promotion and distribution models that you can watch here. Then there was the dumbfounding selection of washed-up '90s nu-metal bands Papa Roach and Buckcherry to headline Saturday's largest showcase. Finally, the organization was horrendous and seemed designed to placate industry executives and infuriate fans: the atrocious CMW website continually crashed, shows were oversold leaving ticketholders out in the cold, and promoters and bar owners weren't kept in the loop about anything.

But there was some great music and a pretty good vibe.

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Thursday

I began my Canadian Music Week on Thursday evening at the Horseshoe Tavern, where Chart Attack was curating their first of three showcases. The night had a western feel, with a lineup that included two Alberta acts and a country band. Tagged on the front of the bill was up-tempo five-piece The Lovely Feathers. There was an air of manufacturedness around them, and their sound seemed contrived. They played a couple of decent power-pop songs and pieced together some formidable harmonies, but overall it was lacking. For some reason, when North American bands play songs reminiscent of early Futureheads, their vocals tend to take on odd UK accents. By the end of their set, I could have sworn their vocalist was from Manchester, not Montreal.

Local country outfit $100 were up next and played a hybrid blend of steel tonk, overdriven tone, and light brush strokes. Lead singer Simone Fornow commanded the stage with supreme authenticity, simultaneously channeling the powerful vulnerability of Loretta Lynn and the confident crowd control of a veteran hype-man. Performing songs about migratory labor, the death of her grandmother, and resource extraction, Fornow's lyrics modernized Canadiana with an urban sensibility, while her band remained deeply connected with country music's rural tradition.

Women's set would turn out to be the best of the weekend. The Calgary band split their time between tracks from their self-titled debut -- including “Black Rice” and “Sag Harbor Bridge” -- and a number of new songs. The lo-fi boom box aesthetic of their aforementioned record came though in their live show, but with an added layer of pulsating midrange noise. It was at once claustrophobic and engulfing, yet wide and spacious. The songs heaved with heavy breaths. The juxtaposed textures played into and off of one another to create an intense tension of expanding and retreating noise, built from stabbing guitar riffs, rumbling base, anxiously repetitive drumming, and contrasting jerky keys with wavering synthesizer oscillations.

The Shoe was getting crowded, and I wanted to end the evening on a high note, so after Women I packed up and left.

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Friday

I was excited to start my second night of CMW at Rancho Relaxo with Sprengjuhollin. There are two types of music that are needed during a (depr/rec)ession. The first is rough, jarring, and overtly political -- either lyrically or in its sonic representation -- the second, pure, joyful self-aware escapism. Sprengjuhollin fall into the latter category. Hailing from Reykjavík, Iceland -- the first and perhaps greatest tragedy of the global financial collapse -- the five-piece pop band played with sincere-to-the-point-of-near-goofy enthusiasm. They showcased catchy pop songs that were deceptively simple, but contained knowledge of songcraft beyond pop traditions. Their danceable drumming, divebomb synthesizer lines, earnestly strum acoustic guitars, and back and forth group vocals were jubilant. Yet, they managed to find space within the celebration to show hints of the lingering darkness that is always present somewhere in whimsy. Sprengjuhollin played like a band truly loving the contradictions of life and passed the vibe along to the crowd.

Black Diamond Bay were up next and began playing some bland chugging guitar rock. Masturbatory soloing won over some of the crowd, but after four songs, it was time to find something more interesting.

The Silver Dollar Room was the late-night hub of CMW 2009 and that's where I ended up next. The Friday night Pop Montreal showcase featured two strong bands that were brought to new heights by their relative frontmen.

The Mark Inside are either a very good garage blues-rock outfit or the world's best bar band. At the Silver Dollar, they were both. They played classic reverb-heavy riffs with splashes of feedback that cascaded against a brooding and aggressive rhythm section. The band was impressive in their interpretation of heavy droning blues, but the raw vocal assault of Chris Levoir was the catalyst of their soaring sound. When the band leapt into “Shots from a Broken Bottle” to end the show, Levoir's presence was undeniable. The tone of his scratchy vocals and the rage with which he approached the mic added a wave of texture and confrontation that made the band truly stand out.

Too often compared to Joy Division or Talking Heads, The D'Urbervilles are a hidden Toronto gem. Sure there are some aesthetic and rhythmic similarities to their post-punk forbearers, but there is much more to them than lazy reference points. Their driving rhythm section, mathy yet restrained guitar leads, strategically placed keyboard accents, smart lyrics, and witty signature changes form an anxious sound of 21-century paranoia. All of these elements emerged in just the right balance on Friday night. They were disorienting enough for the jaded art-rock crowd and danceable enough for the potentially-underage girls at the front of the stage. To top it off, The D'Urbervilles had a keen eye for creating a conceptual stage performance that accented their music. Halfway through the set, vocalist John O'Regan -- who has the appearance of a hooded unibomber-cum-bike courier -- pulled out a notebook pretending to read lyrics. Someone standing behind me said they'd leave if he sang another song like that. I guess sometimes jokes go over people's heads.

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Saturday

I started late on Saturday night, catching the last three songs from Vancouver based Jon-Rae Fletcher -- formerly of Jon-Rae and The River -- at Lee's Palace. He held the stage with the confidence you would expect from a seasoned band leader. With soaring vocals and a repertoire of clever and sincere lyrics, Fletcher's folksy guitar ballads set the bar high for the night, which was too bad for the next act.

Herman Dune is to The Mountain Goats as Nick Nolte is to Gary Busey. The French duo's troubadourial shtick may have won over the suburban pub and sensitive lacrosse-playing crowd at Lee's, but I was having none of it. If you're going to swoon nostalgia while standing on the corner of a stage with your guitar, backed by a drummer working the brushes, you've got to come out stronger than with cliché lyrics about long-distance relationship and freezing bodies of water.

Lee's was getting crowded, and I wasn't exactly digging the singer-songwriter scene that was developing, so I headed to Clinton's Tavern, not knowing who was playing or what to expect.

Entering the back bar, it became apparent that some form of hard rock or metal would be on the bill. The members of Secret Suburbia took their time laying out their collection of pedals and demanded minuscule changes to their monitor mix like bratty entitled kids. Their music reflected this. I caught myself literally laughing out loud as they began their ridiculous set of late-'90s inspired alternative hard rock. The lead singer tried his hand at some sing-rapping, flangers blared, and the bassist slapped two of his six strings. One woman seemed to really dig them. Maybe it was a mom of one of the band members.

I left and attempted to return to Lee's. In my absence, the venue had hit capacity, and the owner told me no one else would be let in. It seemed like a fitting end to Canadian Music Week.

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