HPX - Mock Explosion @ Gus'

I have a bunch of things to get done, but first a long blog post is definitely in order.

Last night S and I rocked the Mock Explosion at Gus'. An early show, full of the Local brand of Scene Attendees (as a social observer, it piques my interest at events like that to try to put the face to the avatar as it were. It's kind of like bird watching). I'm sure there's a whole post on the social science and protocols of your virtual and real worlds colliding, but this is about the music.

Mark Black had some kind of speed hard punk thrash metal sumpin sumpin to start off the evening. I've read his blog on occasion, and been impressed with some of his insight and passion around the CBC strike, so I would have expected a more lyrical and reflective music style, had I thought about it ahead of time. However, Die Broke or whatever they were called, were too loud, too guitary, had no discernible vocals, and made my ears bleed. They made me want to seek out a Signal Hill show.

Luckily I had previewed online tunes by the next two bands so I didn't despair. I plugged my ears, watched the very pretty M. Catano et al eat cookies, and bided my time. I also took a moment to admire some of the skin art around... a nice big-ball bowling tatt on a lovely young lady with a cool hair cut caught my eye.

The Jeff Coll 5, apparently a reunion of some sort that featured members of various other scene bands (DBN is the only one I can remember off hand), was up next. Awesome edgy dancy pop: singers were a deranged jesus sort and a clean cut looking young fella who reminded me of Steve Miller the SMU bootlegger. The Steve Miller guy ripped up the floor dancing when the other guy was singing, like a boy gogo dancer on speed. The band also featured none other than the gypsy hippie gal whose dancing I've admired at so many sloco shows. Wearing jeans she seems more down to earth, but still is an embodiment of joy and grace. A somewhat creepy skinny girl was hitting on her later, next to me on the dance floor. "No sullying the gypsy!" thought I, inwardly... but minded my own business.

After JC5, Tom Fun were up. Pipes, guitars, fiddle, stand up bass... I was already dancing to their set up and didn't rest till they stopped. They were fan-freaking-tastic. There was no sense of, "this is a chance for me to show off my guitar skills," or what have you. They were tight, all about the songs, all about the crowd and the energy coming off them could blow the roof off. I loved every second... how Ian's Tom Waits growl played counterpoint to the Yellow gal's interpretation of Carmen Townsend's vocals; how Lachie Macdonald was rocking the mandolin like I've never seen one rocked before... how there were three guitars and yet guitar did not dominate. No one thing dominated, in fact, so the music won out. That's pretty visceral and I'm not sure I can explain any better, but they were Rawlins Cross for a new generation, Broken Social Scene of the east coast, and they owned.

And then, the cap to the evening: a special top secret appearance by one of the stars of the Pop Explosion who were most officially NOT Japanther but may in fact have been very very much like them. Wicked two person dance punk (I guess that's what you'd call it)... it was fresh and different and they had pink telephone microphones which unduly impressed me.

Outside it rained and stormed, and inside, we danced. Gus' shook.

We skipped down to the Seahorse after where they served me coffee, and for our six dollar entry fee, we watched that testostorone-laden fool Epworth do about four or five songs. Also got to see Victor have a little hissy fit at two very busy bartenders because he couldn't find chalk for his pool game. "Never mind those customers, I NEED POOL CHALK." And so, the mighty Vic strives to tear down another rock institution in Halifax by bending it to his needs. Never mind that, I know not of what I speak, only that's what I perceive.

The new Seahorse ambience was not conducive to continuing our groove, so we headed home to finish grooving in private.