Truth Explosion Magazine
Much like the NXNE festival, I have a love/hate relationship with CMW which breaks down as simply as I love them because they are a yearly in-your-face reminder of just how much talent Canada produces that doesn't necessarily get as much attention as it deserves, and I hate them because I don't get to see even a tenth as many of the bands playing as I would like due to inconvenient timing and more importantly, the lack of an expenses account suitable for total coverage.
This of course, wouldn't be stopping me this year. As long as one remembers that they are always no more than a well placed promoter friend away from the show one wants to see, cash should never be an issue. Of course, having your editors CMW press pass doesn't hurt either. Small assurances as such go a long way when you're planning on covering a band that very well could be blowing up and laying waste to a town near you sometime soon. My money was already on 2006 as the year of The Beautiful Unknown.
My introduction to TBU had come by way of a email from fab local promoter Anna Von Frances of Sport Pig fame with an attached CMW press release for their upcoming gig at the Drake, and a link to their myspace page where I found a few of their songs posted as well as a spot-on remake of the Stones "Street Fighting Man".
Cut ahead a week or two following a flurry of emails, several phone calls and a quick stroll south, I was waiting outside the Drake for pare to arrive with the press pass, when I was saved from impending hypothermia by the arrival of Ms Von Frances who's connections [read: media pass] helped the door staff to understand that they were in the presence of someone important, about official business, and not to be trifled with over such things as cover.
We had just grabbed drinks and were thawing out as TBU took the stage to play for the few faithful that were there for their very early opening slot on the bill. It was a damn good thing that the downstairs live room was so small; an average sized venue would have appeared deserted in comparison given the anorexic turnout so far. Whoever was in charge of scheduling for the night really needed to have their head examined. TBU weren't exactly a household name just yet, but it was almost criminal to pencil them into a timeslot that practically guaranteed them the least amount of exposure.
No matter though, there would be other gigs up ahead, and besides, what does a small turn-out mean anyways? Not much if I think about a guy I knew years ago that had seen Nirvana play their first ever Toronto show at Lee's Palace when he was one of only about 90 people in attendance that night. Given the way TBU laid down their set, I couldn't really tell if they noticed, much less cared about how many people happened to be there. Judging by the lack of audible conversation throughout their set, I figured that the people already there were actually into the band, and when it comes right down to it, that's the only thing that really matters. As far as I'm concerned, there should be one rule above all others understood by the crowd at any given show: Be interested or be GONE.
TBU played a particular brand of rock n' roll that had a deliciously retro feel with a more than liberal nod to the things that made the 70's worth remembering without sounding the slightest bit contrived. Far from being just another garden variety retro throwback, it was as though they had just tapped in, mainlined and only half-returned to the here and now.
From the consummate swagger of opener "Spinning In My Grave" to the raucous stomp of "Riot In The House", my jaded seen-it-all sensibilities were blindsided completely. All I could do was picture these songs pumping out of a festival sized PA in the height of summer to thousands of screaming fans.
If the truth be told, I had come to the show expecting another halfway decent local band, certainly nothing special; the idea that I would be blown away by them hadn't even entered my mind. This is the very thing that keeps me checking out new bands, regardless of how jaded I think I've gotten. Surprise isn't dead and neither is rock n' roll.
As the last note rang out barely 45 minutes later, I felt flush with the exhilaration of having witnessed something great. I quickly came to the conclusion that if there was any sense or reason in the world, the only thing standing between TBU and stardom would be time and a few more stages so here's to sanity in 2006.
