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Friday, October 1, 2004

Postcard From Montreal Numero Deux: Debate this. Bitch.
(A note to those who are paid to read me and those who pay for such a, er, luxury: Much of what will appear here over the next few days, will likely be fine-tuned and filed for that old fashnioned thing newsprint. If you'd rather be surprised, look away. Go watch CNN or something.)

Remember smoking? Doesn't seem like anyone does that anymore. Something about civic bylaws. Something about cancer. But in Montreal, you can still both suck and blow. And when done right, as Montrealers do, this can be wonderfully sensual.

For that matter, remember sexy? Us neither. Seems years since indie rock - and don't get smug, pop, you haven't been much better - had anything to do with the fine art of seducation. Which is why it was so refreshing to see the girls with ponytails getting chills from Luke Doucet at Petit Campus this evening.

The Vancouver songwriter is the closest thing Canada has to an indie heart throb (Brendan Canning maybe a close second). Save for the guitar he looks tonight like he should be herding cattle or reading poetry to some farmer's daughter. Instead he's slaying alt.country tunes and — with a female sidekick who inspires hot flashes with a subtle twist of her hips — sexing up Tom Waits. Who knew a gathering of skinny white kids could feel like this.

Then there's The Cuts. Down the street at Cabaret, The Cuts are proving to be the least sexy of bands (and therefore the most sexy of bands?). Most troubling, they are playing 70s metal without any of the requiste humour. Five minutes of this and The Black Keys' arrival seems not so much eventual as necessary.

When they do appear, they do not disappoint — loud, hard and fast (adjectives that generally describe the best of live sound). Music made for Akron, a midwestern town that boasts the Pro Football Hall of Fame, The Black Keys turn the blues into bombs. Very sexy. Or at least the result of something that used to be such.

***

P.S. Also seen/heard, Cuff the Duke (impressive), the Sonny Best Band (terrible), and Peter Elkas' parents (cute).
P.P.S. Oh shit. Optimus was at the Doucet/Cuff/Elkas/Best show. If we'd known that we would have worn our "Ask Me About PopWherry" t-shirt. Maybe next time.
P.P.P.S. Where the fuck is Liss?

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