THE DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS + The Whigs @ Cabaret Juste Pour Rire

By Simon Howell - A Listening Ear - 03/20/2008

I love this city -- really, I do. But sometimes I can get a little fed up with our scene's superiority complex. It's as though some authorial voice proclaimed us the best scene in the world and then we started to believe it. As a result, we crank out bands like nobody's business, many of whom sound more or less interchangeable (or feature deeply incestuous line-ups). All the while we make sure to let the rest of the country know we're better than them. Well, there was no better cure for the Montreal scenester blues than a Drive-By Truckers show -- five people rocking the un-hippest sounds around with heart and effortless swagger.

Openers The Whigs demonstrated a classic case of how not to endear yourself to a Montreal audience: "this is our second time in Toronto!" they exclaimed, sincerely oblivious to their surroundings as the crowd jeered, expectedly (with that good old superiority complex out in force). Without having their recordings as a reference, their sound was something akin to Nirvana with a hint of Georgian twang and an organ, albeit with a less assertive vocal presence. What their sound and songs lacked in distinctiveness they tried gamely to make up for with sheer energy -- vocalist Parker Gispert hopped and flailed like a man possessed (but probably just drunk) and drummer Julian Dorio elevated the proceedings with Grohl-esque brute force.

The majority of the crowd, however, was obviously there for the ‘Truckers. They kicked off their first-ever Montreal show in their decade-long history with one of the strongest tunes from new record, Brighter Than Creation's Dark, Mike Cooley's "Self-Destructive Zones." The band started powerfully and only accumulated strength as the night tore on. This was the first show in ages that I'd seen wherein the relationship between band and crowd felt playful rather than strained; cell phones were giddily flipped to capture Cooley flaunting the smoking ban he surely didn't even know existed (while rocking a banjo, no less), while one onlooker shouted "we have better healthcare!" in response to their border troubles (they were unable to bring their merch along) not long after bandleader Patterson Hood's cocaine-and-chemo lament "Puttin' People on the Moon."

The incredible thing about watching the 'Truckers live is to witness just how many weapons are in their arsenal: they're a great country band, as evidenced by rich performances of "Check Out Time in Vegas" and newly contributing songwriter Shonna Tucker's "I'm Sorry Huston," aided by some lovely steel guitar work; their Skynyrdian three-guitar attack was taken full advantage of on "3 Dimes Down" and main-set closer "Let There Be Rock;" but perhaps most impressively, they retained their status as first-rate storytellers even in a live setting. Hood's preambles to "The Living Bubba" and "Eighteen Wheels of Love" shed light on his personal history as well as that of the Georgian rock scene with admirable candor. Hood's speeches also added emotional weight to the rest of the set, especially poignant rocker "The Righteous Path" and Iraq war nightmare "The Man I Shot." All the while, middle-aged men tried in vain to rock out while holding two beer cups at once. It was a glorious sight.

Earlier in the year, I witnessed a similarly long set put on by Kevin Drew and Broken Social Scene wherein the crowd had visibly thinned by the time the encore came around. Perhaps the clearest sign that I'd witnessed something special this time around was that by the time the 'Truckers had finished their 24-song set, the crowd not only stayed intact, but were still drunkenly clamoring for more until the house lights came up. Come back anytime, boys (and Shonna).

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