Hayden Hot Hot Heat Julie Doiron (weilding pictures of her kids) Washington Social Club

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 26TH

The Sadies
La Salla Rossa

Montréal is, for all intents and purposes, about as close to a Euro-minded cultural Mecca as North America is going to get. Yet for all of its jazz festivals, international film galas, avant-garde hotspot-ism and assorted other signifiers of hip, Montréal had no independent music festival. Until now -- over eighty artists all appearing within the same few square blocks within a four day period. There was no way to see it all, and with some major local debuts being made, other big names were going to get ignored. Hindsight being 20/20, I think I made away like a bandit.

The Sadies' Thursday night set at one of the city's coolest and most reliable venues, La Salla Rossa, was a great way to start the weekend. Their unique brand of cow poke surf-rock energized the crowd and pretty much set the tone for the whole weekend. While a simple scan of the room made it clear there were just as many industry folks trying to get the most bang out of their weekend passes as there were devout followers of one of Canada's most invigorating live acts, it was all forgiven by the end of one of The Sadies' customary epic sets. "The Creepy Butler", from last year's brilliant Tremendous Efforts, was (as it always is) the highlight, the twang of the Good brothers' guitars and the chilling call of the vibes summoning the ghosts of myriad spaghetti westerns. (MB)

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 27TH

The Walkmen, Blue Skies Turn Black, Mellonova, The Datson Four
Petit Campus

In my heart of hearts, I wanted The Walkmen's Montréal debut to be the event of the weekend. Unfortunately, battling the unwelcoming and poorly conceived confines of Petit Campus has destroyed greater musicians, so my hopes were held only tentatively high for this Friday night showcase. Great guys and hero-scenesters that they are, Brian and Meyer from Blue Skies Turn Black put their bravest faces on, while openers Mellonova and The Datson Four fought against the noise of the dance floor upstairs. The Datson Four clearly won out over the sonic intrusion with a blistering set of their own unique brand of Mod-inflected pop-rock. By the time their set concluded, the crowd had swelled in numbers, clearly anticipating the arrival of The Walkmen. No one was disappointed. Playing the vast majority of tracks from this year's stellar Everyone Who Pretended To Like Me Is Gone (one of my choices for the year's best), The Walkmen seemed to transport the crowd to an other-worldy venue of their own creation. Neither upbeat nor down tempo, The Walkmen present songs fully realized and complex in their vision yet stripped bare of the tropes of pop songwriting. Watching singer Hamilton Leithauser wrestle with his mic stand all night would have got tiring were it not for his gut-wrenching crooning. High drama, to be sure. So ferocious were his bellows that it seemed every lyric that made it out his mouth could have been his last (I'd hate to hear this guy on the final few nights of a long tour). Few who left the venue doubted the significance of what they had just seen, The Walkmen having delivered one of the most engaging and entertaining performances of the year, let alone the festival. (MB)

Neko Case, Trailer Bride, Sonny Best Band
Le Cabaret

Much to my surprise, I'd seen the Sonny Best Band before; in June, they opened for Melissa Auf Der Maur's Black Sabbath tribute band, Hands of Doom, though at that time didn't have a name. On that bill, their bluegrass covers didn't quite fit in. On this country-themed night, however, they proved to be an ideal opening act, their familiar songs ensuring a positive response from the audience. The undoubted highlight of their short set was a cover of Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean"; equally enjoyable were their covers of Bruce Springsteen ("I'm On Fire") and the Byrds ("Hey Spaceman").

Trailer Bride was less of a crowd-pleaser. Though lead singer/guitarist Melissa Swingle made an early connection with the crowd by speaking French (a North Carolinan-accented version of French, but nonetheless understandable), the band's set was plagued by technical problems. Swingle's mic, for example, began to drop away from her mouth as she played the saw, while the varying volume meant that what was barely audible one moment would be almost deafening the next. Many an audience member headed for the door at that point, and Trailer Bride was still perfectly audible from just beyond the theatre doors.

Unfortunately, there was then a wait of more than half an hour (during which time Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot was played, perhaps as a subtle reminder to all in attendance that I Am Trying To Break Your Heart was making its Canadian debut that weekend in Montréal). Neko Case's van had broken down earlier in the evening a few hours from Montréal, meaning she and her band had to be towed into the city. Add the bad traffic she encountered coming into town, and she wasn't on the stage until well after midnight, forcing her to play a much shorter show than had been scheduled.

Case made the most of her limited time. In a perky mood despite the evening's problems, she thanked just about everyone and everything, ranging from the sound technician to her tow truck driver to her amp to every person who had stuck around for her set, building an instant rapport with an appreciative audience. Admittedly, the audience's gratitude was due more to the music: Case's voice was stellar, raising goosebumps with every high note hit, and each of her slow, beautiful songs seemed to resonate with the hushed crowd. While it was a definite disappointment that the set was so short, Case eased the disappointment a great deal with her effort. (MP)

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 28

Tangiers, Mean Red Spiders
Jupiter Room

Grenadine/Self Starter Foundation Showcase
Jupiter Room

Saturday night, the festival organizers offered a head-spinning assortment of label showcases, not least of which were the Teenage USA fete at Barfly and the split Grenadine Records/Self-Starter Foundation party at the Jupiter Room. With the always less-than-accommodating Barfly packed tight, it didn't take long for the broken PA to grow frustrating. Thankfully, Toronto's Tangiers (featuring ex-Deadly Snakes) took things into their own hands and embraced the speaker distortion with a wicked blur of T. Rex-fashioned rock. It was like being in a time warp, watching the crowd -- comprised of young and old alike (hats off to the septuagenarian with the long white beard bopping on the bar all night) -- let loose to the edgy sounds that have suddenly become fashionable again. Luckily, Mean Red Spiders were able to steer clear of most of the technical difficulties, and spun their dreamy pop sounds, highlighting tracks from their new album, Still Life Fast Moving.

The Grenadine/SSF showcase was a much different affair, with local boys and label honchos Alex Megalas and Eric Lapointe inebriated to the point that the drink tickets were flowing freely to almost anyone who took the time to visit the merch table. Toronto-based Music For Mapmakers debuted new songs from their forthcoming full-length, clearly influenced by the output of Britons such as Coldplay and The Verve. New York's Palomar made their first local appearance with a stellar set of tunes from this summer's Palomar II. The sound man was clearly on their side, as he did a bang-up job of giving each of the three female vocalists a clearly defined space in the stereo mix. Guitars were bright, lyrics were intelligible and more than few over-eager male punters received a sardonic tonguelashing from Rachel between tunes (such a thing is always a possibility with such a gender-minded band, and few in the room would have had it any other way). Montréal's own francophone Mod icons, Les Sequelles, closed out the night with their delirious "freakout excitement" (don't you love the use of adjectives by non-Anglophones?). While I behaved myself and played "good journalist" on previous nights, I let my hair down a little on Saturday. I'll be frank, from the Les Sequelles set forward, my recollections of the night are pretty foggy. While I presume I dropped by the festival-sanctioned after-hours lofty party held a few short blocks from my apartment, I couldn't really say for certain. And to be honest, none of the Grenadine gang could either. (MB)

Hayden, Julie Doiron, Social Register
Le Cabaret

It's hard to figure out why Social Register were slotted in prior to two of Canada's foremost folkies. While there's definitely a lot to be said for pairing unknown acts with well-known ones for exposure's sake, that usually works best when the acts have something in common. Given that Social Register are much more poppy and rocking that either of the other two acts on the bill, it seemed that there had been a scheduling mistake.

Initially, though, Social Register nearly made it make sense. Their jangly pop music had a lot of people dancing, culminating in an extended jam at the end of their third song. From that point on, however, everything went downhill. The jam seemed to have put each of their instruments out of tune -- a problem that wasn't remedied, despite extensive attempts at tuning.

Even if Social Register had sustained the quality of their set, it's hard to imagine that it would've made much difference to the audience, who, to a person, were there to see Hayden. They had to wait through Julie Doiron, however, who was making her return to the stage after a five month vacation (during which she had a baby). Doiron was visibly nervous, which she later explained as being due to the fact she hadn't played her guitar in the five months prior to that afternoon.

It would take a heart of stone to have disliked Doiron's performance. Once she got past her initial nerves (manifested in the way she loudly whispered the time for each of her songs, and in the baffled look on her face as she tried to remember the chords to some of them), Doiron had the audience in the palm of her hand. She showed pictures of her three children to the front few rows of audience, talked about breastfeeding her new baby, and every so often decided to play a song or two. The audience gave her total silence for most of her songs (which was needed, given how quiet her voice was), and she amply rewarded them.

As I said, most of the crowd was there for Hayden, and he didn't fail to live up to the standard he's set for himself. As those who have heard the recent Live At Convocation Hall know, Hayden's music and stage presence are nothing alike. While his songs are sad and morose, his between-song banter is often hilarious. On this evening, for example, he gained applause for a story involving a refrigerator mover with a lazy eye and a "Jingle Bells" ringtone, while some of his song introductions necessitated waiting a few moments for the audience's laughter to die down. Most notably, prior to an unnamed new song (one of several debuted this evening), he stated: "This is a new song, it's inspired by me --" (pause) "No, I mean it's a song about fucking --" (Audience laughs) "No, I'm serious. I mean, why is it that only rappers can sing about that?"

Hayden seems to have attracted some extraordinarily stupid fans. On this evening, they very nearly ruined my enjoyment of the show, as many of them failed to realize that you shouldn't talk loudly at shows, either to each other or to the artist. This audience included a pair of drunken jocks who made jokes and then gave each other high-fives for their wittiness. There was a devoted fanboy who decided to show his adoration for Hayden by shouting out stupid questions -- "What kind of harmonicas do you use?", he shouted at one point, and, when rewarded with the answer, muttered "Ah, of course!", as if no other harmonica could've made Hayden's music. Then there was a girl who met every song by putting a clenched fist to her mouth and letting tears slowly fall from the corners of her eyes (she left early, perhaps because it had all become too much for her). Most obnoxiously, a trio of ditzy girls decided to talk about methods of putting on nail polish. Such people should be barred from attending concerts. (MP)

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 29

Interpol, Howie Beck
Jupiter Room

Obviously all eyes were set on Sunday night's finale with current "it" outfit Interpol. Montréal was buzzing all week long about this particular show, for more reasons than just the music. The selection of the Jupiter Room was a puzzling one; with a capacity of just under two hundred people, the venue had been sold-out well in advance of the show and word was out that punters with Pop Montréal volunteer passes and performer passes would be turned away at the door for fear of the venue filling up before ticket holders arrived. While the 900-seat Club Soda venue remained almost empty several blocks south on St-Laurent, a line formed outside the Jupiter Room, comprised of dejected fans and wagon-jumpers hoping to snare a ticket or two from those with a surplus. By the time Howie Beck appeared on stage for an solo acoustic set of his stunning and melancholic indie ballads, the venue was packed; rumours that Beck-buddy and national treasure Hayden would accompany his partner in crime on a number of songs were confirmed, and the pair captivated the crowd with their haunting harmonies and instantly establishing the set's defining moments. Particularly stunning (and utterly heartbreaking) was Beck's performance of the slow-burning yet anthemic "The One You Wanted".

No sooner had Interpol taken the stage did they begin to moan about the sound; out in the room, however, the cuts from Turn On The Bright Lights were simply stunning -- a throwback to the days of John Hughes films and their always sparkling soundtracks. The energy and atmosphere of the Jupiter Room was a New Wave dream thrown forward twenty years. Things hit a fever pitch on the dance floor during crowd favourites "Say Hello to the Angels" and "PDA" -- in fact, for the first time in several years, I danced in public. Truly, I did, and loved every minute of it. Just as The Strokes appeared last fall to an intimate crowd, only to return this autumn to perform in packed hockey arenas, Interpol's Montréal debut was a special and celebratory sight; their imminent celebrity means that the thought of a repeat performance in such a small venue will go unrealized. (MB)

Les Marmottes Aplaties, Hot Hot Heat, Model Children, Washington Social Club, The Weekend
Club Soda

The final evening of Pop Montréal seemed to feature a variety of bands who just hadn't fit in anywhere else (for this bill, at least). As a result, little rhythm developed between the bands, which made it much harder to enjoy the bill as a cohesive whole.

Of course, that may also be due to the fact that most of the bands on the evening's bill were of dubious quality. The Weekend, for example, are extraordinarily generic girl-fronted pop-punk. Their current single, "Perfect World", is getting lots of airplay on most radio stations, which ensured that many of the kids who attended this all-ages show left after the band finished their bland performance.

In doing so, they missed an all-too-brief set from Washington Social Club, also known (to me, at least) as the highlight of the weekend. Though there were barely 100 people in the large hall, making it seem empty, the band put everything they had into their performance. After hearing their opening song, my girlfriend turned to me and said, "They're the Who!"

While that's probably an overstatement, it's a hard one to disagree with. Frontman Marty Social seems like a rock-god-in-training, his yelpy vocal delivery recalling Roger Daltrey or Mick Jagger, while his numerous guitar poses would undoubtedly earn a Pete Townshend Seal of Approval. It helps that bassist Olivia and drummer Roger (last names aren't rock 'n' roll, man) complement Social extremely well. Seeing the band live, it's very easy to imagine that if the European press finds them, the Washington Social Club could be as big as the Strokes/White Stripes/Hives. Assuming, of course, that they'd want to.

The Club's raucous performance was starkly contrasted by perhaps the worst act of the weekend, the Model Children. Everything the Washington Social Club did right, the Model Children did wrong. Example: Marty Social spoke in French to the audience, whereas the Model Children's lead singer thought it would be better to spend most of the performance with his back to the audience, talking to his bandmates. Similarly, where Social's guitar postures made sense, the Model Children had a lead guitarist who thought the crowd would enjoy it if he laid on his back and kicked his legs in the air. If the Model Children hadn't been so horrible, it would've been easy to feel sorry for them; unfortunately, their music was weak, and they had no connection to the audience, which led to them getting the most tepid applause imaginable.

Hot Hot Heat fared better, but by a smaller margin than one would expect, given the amount of hype they're beginning to generate. Though their New Wave-influenced rock got the small crowd back into the gig, their over-reliance on keyboards got old very quickly. There's just something about a Casio that's distinctly not rocking. At least the band tried their hardest, as evidenced by the torrents of sweat coming off of each of them. If effort alone were all that mattered, Hot Hot Heat would've put in the show of the weekend; unfortunately, it's not, and they didn't.

Hot Hot Heat were followed by les Marmottes Aplaties (the flattened marmots, for the unilingual), who had the unenviable task of playing to a nearly empty concert hall. They received a boost, however, in the form of a crowd who arrived explicitly to see them, and they delivered what their fans had been there to see: an hour of French rock, fast and furious. Judging by the adoring response les Marmottes got from the audience they were doing something right. (MP)

A writer for a national publication made the comment that Montréal-ers probably hadn't noticed the lack of a major independent music festival, as most are content with the city's great food and our general preference for beautiful people and great sex. Fair enough, but I don't think there's any ignoring the fact that year one of Pop Montréal instantly established the latest brainchild of Peter Rowan as one of the pre-eminent music festivals on this continent, and with that, the entire city has found a new point of fascination for the autumn season. During a chit-chat with Rowan on Saturday night, it seemed clear to me that the organizers were ecstatic with the way things were working out. When I playfully asked if and when a decision would be made concerning the possibility of Pop Montréal 2003, Rowan was downright giddy in response: "Monday morning -- that's when we start planning for next year!" (MB)

Article by Mike Baker and Matthew Pollesel. Photos by Muriel Cheung.