Massacre in Montreal! The Brian Jonestown Massacre hits Théatre Beanfield

The sweet September air is ripe with the promise of magic, whimsy and enchantment, none of which will ever be as palpable as it was in the walk over to the Théatre Beanfield. As I headed there in my beat-up platform Jordan Doc Marten boots (a concert staple), my wired headphones beamed The Brian Jonestown Massacre straight into my ears in preparation for the show I was en route to see. After a slightly unaccounted-for kerfuffle at the box office, I entered the raked auditorium (my favourite concert viewing experience) of the Théatre Beanfield and settled into my nook on stage right.

No sooner had I found my spot than opener, Minneapolis's own Flavor Crystals, wandered onstage. Meandering into their set of a genre-bending, rather indefinable blend of psychedelic shoegaze adjacent alt-rock jumble, I thought I understood their schtick. That is, until drummer Jon Menke exploded into action, transforming their standardly enjoyable – if derivative – set into a dynamic, animalistic experience of a definitive punk rock flavour. Just when I thought I knew what was in store, I was dealt yet another blow when lead singer and guitarist Josh Richardson brought out a melodica, infusing a layer of twang and eclectic charm to the already quirked-up set. Out of left field is how I’d describe the act, in the most earnestly appreciative way possible. The only moment I let my cynicism get the better of me was when Richardson, upon finishing the set, threw his guitar on the ground and marched off stage, a move which teetered towards Pete Townsend fanboy cosplay far too much for my liking; I could have done without the slightly brutal reminder that I was watching a bunch of middle aged men live out their fantasy of being rockstars. 

After being left with residual full-body vibrations from the Flavor Crystals’ magnetically percussive set, I settled back in for Brian Jonestown Massacre (despite battling some of the worst concert etiquette from the inter-generational crowd). Emerging from backstage in a slightly somnambulant fashion earned by their *mature* age bracket, was the band, Brian Jonestown Massacre themselves. Anton Newcombe was dressed to the nines, or at least for some sort of occasion one couldn’t quite pinpoint, donning a feather in his cap (literally and figuratively). Ditching the introductory preamble, the band erupted into “Whoever You Are” from their 2008 record Give It Back!. Rather than staying loyal to a particular album, the band opted for something of a “best-of” setlist, spanning their varied discography throughout the years. 

Most captivating to me was the presence of Joel Gion, dedicated tambourine and maraca player, who notably wore bug-eye goggles and looked as though he was in a hypnotized trance. I’m not entirely sure he knew he was playing a show. While the entire band stayed true to their dad-like “Boomer” essence, with Newcombe playing mostly with his back turned to the audience, and between song breaks awkwardly long enough for millennial fans to craft the perfect Snapchat story, it only made their bumbling stage presence all the more authentically endearing. 

In this political moment, it is almost impossible for artists from the States to ignore the turmoil into which their country is rapidly plummeting, and this was no different for Brian Jonestown Massacre, with Newcombe expressing that, “I don’t know what’s going on there, but I didn’t do it”. This sentiment is made all the more humorous considering his own past controversial presence, engaging in frequent brawls with band members and audience members alike, in addition to a habit of callously speaking his mind without consideration. Continuing this brief stand-up comedy interlude, Newcombe jested that “if I had a million dollars I’d make Morrissey make me a fucking hamburger and shut up” almost entirely unprompted. 

After relocating to a higher vantage point around the halfway point (due to the frankly unbearably irritating behaviour in the pit), the band launched into “Anemone”, a clear crowd favourite. Almost as though connected through a hive-mind, the crowd moved and swayed as one together in a trance, mimicking the movement quality of the tendrils of a sea anemone itself. To close out the show, they performed “Super-Sonic”, the magnum opus of the night, even bringing out a Sitar (played by Rishi Dhir from Elephant Stone, according to setlist.fm). The proto-orchestral malleable wall of sound sounded as though the guitars were alive and screaming (leading me to question at times if the scream-sounds were coming from the crowd itself), which, when blended with the tinnitus in my ears, created an unbelievably vibrant crescendo to end off the night. As I was among the first to lead the mass exodus of concert-goers, I felt a pleasant buzz which carried me through Griffintown in a somnambulant state of my own. I left with the sense that I had gained some kind of insight from this motley crew of geriatric rockstars, although I’m not quite sure yet what exactly it was.