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So I've been a little busy between Pop Montreal, the Future of Music Policy Summit, and Secret City Records lately. All of these things are sprouting in the fall here in Montreal, and to be perfectly honest, I've not slept much. But I still got out last Sunday night for the outdoor Osheaga Festival, and saw something worth staying awake for.
First I watched the Flaming Lips do their exploding-confetti-and-insanity thing from the side of the stage, then stopped off for a quick peek at Lady Sovereign before moving on to see Holy Fuck play on a smaller Pop Montreal stage. I feel I made the right decision by ending up at the Holy Fuck set. Why?
All these acts are great. (Though I'm still waiting for Lady Sovereign's Public Warning to drop.) The Flaming Lips have become these odd giants specializing in spectacle. I still like the odd sadness and fragility of The Soft Bulletin the best; it makes Wayne Coyne's heroic persona stand out more when you're not sure he'll make it. Nowadays he's an invincible bubble god, and you can't help but love him for it.
But as good as the music can be, the burst of confetti and the giant predictable crowd isn't what I really go to shows to see.
I first saw Holy Fuck about a year ago when they opened for Islands at Pop Montreal. They've since toured with Wolf Parade, and I've seen them on larger stages more recently. They always sound good, but I found myself wondering in recent months if they were ever going to take it to that next level. That's one thing I really love about young bands that are still working on winning over those giant crowds: seeing how they grow and progress, witnessing those moments where a light goes on and something breaks loose.
Holy Fuck's Brian Borcherdt had been joking earlier in the day that, since they were playing at the same time as Flaming Lips and Lad Sov, there wouldn't be anyone there. There were people, of course — a couple hundred, maybe less; hard to tell. The rain had been falling on and off all day, but when it rained for a bit during the Holy Fuck set (I think at some point after Wolf Parade's Hadji Bakara had joined the band onstage) it felt good, like the sonic dance drone was ripping the precipitation out of the sky.
The song is pulsing, right? Beating, growing, and stuff is happening. It's not predetermined — you don't know if it's going to get bigger or fizzle out, but it keeps getting bigger. The soundman running the show had a tight curfew because of sound carrying from other stage locations, and the fact that Ben Harper was going on shortly. He made a desperate attempt to get Hadji's attention while he was playing, to which Hadji gave a kind of “what do you want from me, I'm not in charge, and I wouldn't even be able to pull all their plugs or signal them to stop if I wanted to" shrug.
They end up pulling the PA sound, but the band doesn't notice — their amps are loud, and the crowd is close; the front can still hear, and the band is playing their brains out, you know? That's what it's about. Those are the moments you want to find.
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Pick of the past: There's nothing like a band on the cusp of greatness…that line between messing around and having some success, and suddenly having the resources, time, and confidence to go ahead and do something really great. The Talking Heads made great records from the start, but I love the charming sense of anticipation on More Songs About Buildings and Food when I feel like hearing a band at this stage. The Good Thing!
Posted September 2006
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