By most s, this year’s NXNE was something of a disappointment. The annual Toronto music festival seemed to scramble at the last minute to bring bigger ticket and independently booked shows with greater interest under its umbrella. Still, many of NXNE weekend’s most notable bills—including the Paper Bag Records showcase and the Six Shooter Records afternoon barbeque—weren’t technically part of the festival. But with more than 400 bands around for some chunk of the weekend, of which I saw nearly full sets from 20, there were definitely several to keep an ear out for. Special recognition is due to the festival’s best band name: Adam Puddington and the Proof.
THE DEPARTMENT OF FOREIGN AFFAIRS
The band I always hope The Old Soul will be, which means they kick out the ’60s revivalist jams like it matters, complete with triangle flourishes. Keyboardist and sometime vocalist Brennan Pilkington’s black suit, black hat and sardonic, lounge-y singing brought to mind Ben Folds giving a cabaret tour of hell. They also singlehandedly created the category and won the award for most peppy use of four-part harmonies on an anti-war song with “First They Hit Manhattan.” Hopefully, this Ottawa troupe will treat Kingston to a trip down Highway 15 sometime soon.
THE ADAM BROWN
Thursday’s packed MapleMusic night at The Boat included The Adam Brown and We’re Marching On, which means my weekend peaked early. Their set began when one guitarist climbed up on a table and spanked himself, and what followed was just as silly and impressive. Explaining The Adam Brown’s appeal isn’t rocket science: this is old-school, Buddy Holly-style rock and roll, played fast and joyfully but cleanly, with detours into psychobilly and more modern guitar heroics. If you’re busy complaining it’s not anything new, you should be dancing.
WE’RE MARCHING ON
Imagine everything you know, but arranged backwards. This is We’re Marching On, who understand conventional song structure to the extent that they can tear it apart and stitch it back into bewildering, wonderful and often beautiful Frankensteins. Their set spanned everything from the remarkably tuneful plea “Don’t shit on my face!” to frantic screams of “PIRATES AT DAWN!” followed by the unveiling of a glockenspiel. Meanwhile, big thick keyboards kept ri into the middle of things like a video game trying to take over the world, green Legend of Zelda forests popping up everywhere. To be honest, I still don’t really have any idea what happened—I just want it to happen again.
JASON FALKNER
When bratty pop-punk bands stumble onto great songs, they are unknowingly playing crappy Jason Falkner covers. Falkner makes a strong argument for the existence of a Platonic form of the perfect pop number, and has spent 18 years in quasi-obscurity trying to break through the veil (including a stint playing guitar for Paul McCartney). Armed with only an electric guitar and considerable personal charm, Falkner’s solo set captured the attention of a Reverb audience waiting for Amy Millan. After listening to meticulously arranged but undiscriminatingly accessible tunes like “She’s Not The Enemy,” the fact that Falkner doesn’t regularly bathe in money while surrounded by naked women is yet another reason that I don’t understand the world.
TOKYO POLICE CLUB
Robots are so hot right now. So are toothsome, shaggy-haired young men and lovably quirky yet catchy indie bands. Tokyo Police Club could be accused of just riding the wave, except their set at the non-NXNE Paper Bag Records showcase proved that not only are they better than their EP A Lesson In Crime indicates, they’ve got an edge on most of their elder labelmates too. An all-ages crowd danced enthusiastically to their happy, spastic paranoia, which takes itself seriously for a moment on “Nature of the Experiment,” one of the best songs I’ve heard in months—written by a band who are all younger than me. Ouch.
THE COAST
Once upon a time, there was a band called The July 26th Movement. They were not very good. Now there is a band called The Coast, who are actually the same band, except better and with a new name. There’s still some serious U2 homage going on, and the songs are occasionally indistinguishable from one another. But plugging away in mediocrity has made them a tight live outfit, and their uplifting, earnest vocals and stirringly epic guitar sound are ready to blossom in more creative musical soil. For those of us who liked Coldplay until they went completely flaccid, help may be on the way.
All final editorial decisions are made by the Editor(s) in Chief and/or the Managing Editor. Authors should not be ed, targeted, or harassed under any circumstances. If you have any grievances with this article, please direct your comments to journal_editors@ams.queensu.ca.