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Hosted by: Julian Mckenzie

Stories by: Emeline Vidal, Catlin Spencer, Patricia Petit-Laing

Produced by: Emeline Vidal

Hosted by: Catlin Spencer

Stories by: Tom Matukala, Saturn de Los Angeles, Patricia Petit-Liang

Produced by: Emeline Vidal

Date attended: August 2, 2015
Photo: Mike Wright

The evening began at 10:52 with a mad dash to the dépanneur. Missing the 11 o'clock cut-off for beer would be a critical mistake for deadbeats like us attending a BYOB show at the Drones loft, and indeed a devastating blow was dealt upon reaching the corner of Belanger and St. Dominique. How could this be, it's only 10:55!? But wait there is hope! If we sprint we can make it to the dep on Mozart! The length of Jean-Talon market felt like miles as we raced against time, only to be twice defeated, greeted by the sign: FERMÉ. What a caloric expenditure for naught, and why the early closure? Because it is Sunday?!

If Sunday is meant to be an early night in Montreal, Drones disregards it. In typical fashion, the show begins just 30 minutes prior to midnight, soon after the timely flood of patrons gurgle up the well-travelled stairway into the dimly lit DIY den. Fresh-faced locals Holding Hands kick off the night with a batch of songs directly descended from the Dinosaur Jr genus, producing a heavy '90s alt-pop sound complete with ripping guitar leads. Unfortunately, the lyrics were inaudible as the vocals were fossilized; buried beneath the solid din of the power-trio. By the end of the first act it was imperative to escape the dense heat of Drones and take refuge in the back alley, where rumors begin to circulate of an acid pool party in Point St. Charles. Clearly this was no ordinary Sunday night; a palpable lysergic anxiousness was at work, drifting through the air, seeping into pores, inflecting our perceptions of what was to come.

The triple threat of weird sets began with Montreal super-group Phern. A juxtaposition of smooth bass and velvet vocals pinned against prickly, angular guitar lines served to perform a certain sonic acupuncture. It came across as a crack team of humans covering robots covering early medieval polyphony. As a distant allusion to popular music, it created the illusion of popular music and as such points to the future of popular music. Though their debut recordings are ultra-tight, it became apparent that a live encounter with Phern is necessary to be fully mind-bent by the power and creativity of this project.

By the time Phern's set concluded, the lack of beer-fuel became worrisome; fortunately the following performances were to be intoxicating enough. Complete with guest saxophonist, Brazilian Money felt like the slow, carefully-meditated strangulation of Kenny G, but this soon gave way to the sensation that what we were witnessing was the equivalent of the Rolling Stones performing "Miss You" in a K-hole. Even on the numbers without the saxophone, the core trio sounded truly monstrous while remaining utterly danceable. By the last two songs, this twisted sludge-disco became transcendent, with an incomprehensible groove laid down by the wizardly drummer playing both keys and kit simultaneously.

After another mass exodus and subsequent return from the alley it was time for Victoria freaks Freak Heat Waves to melt time. It became rapidly apparent that Freak Heat Waves channeled a powerful paradox that, despite their honed skills and structural complexity, followed a primeval thread in raw music: the ability to cull inspiration out of a seemingly impenetrable darkness. With a striking resolve their cold, hard grooves effectively served to encapsulate and then exile the agony and despair of human existence to a far off moon via an express kraut-funk rocket. The other-worldly vocal delivery felt something like receiving sarcastic propaganda from Mark E. Smith if he had the grace to become an astronaut and transmit messages directly to your brain, LIVE from the earth's orbit. However, unlike Smith and The Fall, the aural poise of Freak Heat Waves is more a suggestion of confrontation than an overt demand. Indeed there was a certain no-wave edge in the continuing rhythmic mutation from comfort to discomfort and back, but this did not come across as an intentional agitation as much as the generation of a necessary propulsion, giving the spectator a steady nudge into the interstice, where one can lose oneself in the realm of pure experience. Let it wash over you, yeah. You gotta get those waves first-hand; the crisp artiness of their full-length Bonnie's State of Mind is a tour-de-force to be sure, but it is an alien beast to the spirit unleashed by the five-piece lineup that evening at Drones. The band demonstrated a mastery of fluidity that is crucial if a group is to tactfully dislodge the ego and produce the necessary emanations to establish a wave nation.

Somehow these vital vibrations reach a completion and a standard perception of time is restored. How long exactly was that set? That matters little; it has been Monday for a while now. Now is the time to ride home on our own heat propulsion… such waves are more reliable than the night bus.

Last Sunday on Fatal Attraction, Patricia covered the Montreal Otakuthon and interviewed LeSean Thomas: television animation producer, director, animator, comic book artist, writer, character designer and the creator of Cannon Busters! Tune in here... to listen to the interview! (It starts around 19:31).

He’s worked with Disney, Showtime, the Warner Brothers, Cartoon Network, Adult Swim and much much more. Last November, LeSean Thomas started his own Kickstarter project to fund the animated adaptation of his comic book “Cannon Busters”. While working in Seoul, South Korea to develop a better understanding of the intense work involved in the outsourcing of animation, he documented his experiences in a set of Youtube videos called the Seoul Sessions.

Fatal Attraction airs every Sunday from 11AM-12PM, so tune in to hear Patricia play weird Youtube videos, share her most embarrassing personal stories on the air and interview people she thinks are cool!