Dopethrone played in Montreal on October 20th

So you’ve got an exam on Friday evening. Another on Monday morning. Shut up, I know YOU didn’t, I did. Physics hard up. The two days that some call weekend, I call catching up time. Not with friends! With my papers. Except, this Saturday, Montreal had Dopethrone.

Dopethrone is a great band from Montreal that has come out with some great music in the past few years. They’re a leading force in the sludge industry that roll some tight …CDs, along other things. Their latest album, III, contains some of the heaviest doom riffs and stoner jams out there and was received very well by many critics, including yours truly. It was officially launched at the show Saturday, although digital sale was begun about a month back from Bandcamp.

When I reached L’absynthe, Teethmarks were just starting their set. Teethmarks is a hardcore band from Toronto that wasn’t afraid to get the show going. The vocalist got off the stage and into the crowd, something I always admire. After them was Collider, a sludge band from Ottawa. Despite having not heard much of them previously, I absolutely loved their music. It was heavy with reverb and the songs were tightly unique. They did a wonderful job and set the stage very well for the night’s headliners.

Dopethrone took hold of the room from the moment they began with a set that was tight, heavy and deep. The whole room was enveloped in smoke with the vocalist’s eyes staring at us from the band’s perch atop the stage. At the onset of every song, he morphed into an empowered Sadhu from the Hindu temples and turned human only at the end. Despite a few glitches, the bassist and drummer had killer rhythms and held things together enough to result in an amazing set. I’d know – my ears are still ringing.

Everyone had a blast: the bands were great, the people were great, and the guest vocals from Julie were terrific. Yes, the death-grind conditioned fan within me was longing for a moshpit — but for that, there is next week. Until then, live on with your ordinary lives, as I will with mine and if you dare, listen to Dopethrone at dopethrone.bandcamp.com.

– Bimo Chann

Erin Sexton

This concert was scheduled for the day after the Suoni Per Il Popolo Festival ended, underlining the fact that original music can’t be boxed-in by a calendar.

I walked in for the final minutes of Erin Sexton’s set. Exploring the thresholds of pure noise, Sexton’s performance was one of crunchy crackles, whizzy whistles and gut shaking rumbles. A small video camera pointing at her hands and the interesting objects she was manipulating projected onto a large screen above the stage and gave the performance a refreshing directness.

Susan Alcorn

I was very keen about hearing Susan Alcorn perform live, being a huge fan of pedal steel guitar. For those who may not know pedal steel outside of its de-rigueur presence in country and western music, it is possibly one of the most difficult musical instruments to play, what with its multiple pitch-shifting pedals and knee-levers, foot operated volume control and non-tempered strings. Alcorn, seated centre stage at her impressive looking instrument, began her performance with fragmented melodic passages referencing classic C&W riffs, eventually strumming out more complicated textures. Her set was crowned by a beautiful long passage that was reminiscent of French impressionistic music of the early twentieth century: shifting chords and a roller coaster ride of tension and resolution, like the musical equivalent of a three dimensional kaleidoscope. There were three or four moments when Alcorn performed short stringent and loud improvisations, which I found to be jarring and out of context with the rest of her music, but appreciated that she was taking risks making her instrument produce sounds it was not intended to.

Andrea-Jane Cornell

The night was capped by a performance by Andrea Jane Cornell. Standing in front of the stage behind an interesting assemblage of hi and low-tech objects (laptop, accordion, a spaghetti mess of cables and doo-dads), she started with a series of low hums accompanying fragments of the song “  The First Time I Saw Your Face” interpreted by Roberta Flack, which sounded like it was coming from a time machine damaged transistor radio. A succession of overlapping tones and field-recordings of birds, wind, and rain produced a calm/tense atmosphere, recalling the soundtracks in some of David Lynch’s better movies. The sound voyage continued with Cornell panting into a mic with spooky echo (à la Inuit throat singing), shifting pure sine tones, squeeze-box and very pretty old-timey analogue-sequencer riffs, always with a background of low-end rumbles and drones. The performance conjured a dust-bowl era carnival heard through mescaline-tinted earphones. It was impossible to gauge how much of Cornell’s set was improvised: the entire performance had a very cinematic and highly orchestrated emotional development, all the more impressive by the fact that the anachronistic hodge podge of stuff she used meshed seamlessly from one sound to the next.

A night of beautiful and engaging sounds, I highly recommend seeking out the music of these three performers. Satisfaction guaranteed.

– Marc Montanchez

The second installment in our four part series covering this year’s FIMAV festival.

by Pascal Denis Lussier

Maïkotron Unit with Stephen Haynes

Michel Côté: clarinet, tenor sax, maïkotron; Pierre Côté: acoustic bass, cello; Michel Lambert: drums, maïkotron; Stephen Haynes: trumpet, cornet, flugelhorn.

Always a joy to experience, both for the visual curio and the way in which these musicians challenge our auditory expectations, this little-known Montreal band managed to garner a cult following in the mid 80’s that was happy to see its return in ‘11 after what seemed like its demise. The maïkotrons—brass instruments with added sections, valves, and contraptions—are the brainchild of Michel Côté, invented in 1983 to force band members to break free from the conventions imposed by their habitual instruments as well as an attempt to demark themselves in an acceptably-gimmicky way within a hard to sell and then stagnant market. The result is an openness and abandon that engages listeners into beguilingly textured microtonal depths that provides the grist for more conventional improv. The trio itself is always interesting, but I’m tempted to believe that their success best lies in performances with a guest musician, as they’ve recently done with saxophonist Dave Liebman and, in this case, with the Bill Dixon-trained and imposing Stephen Haynes who perfectly complemented the group’s democratic approach with sparse but powerful and haunting lines.

Jean-Pierre Gauthier / Mirko Sabatini – “Le temps qu’il faut perdre”

Jean-Pierre Gauthier: invented instrument, iPad and iPod apps; Mirko Sabatini: sampling, contact microphones, iPhone app.

A collaboration between two sound artists equally steeped in the visual arts that flirted with the boundary between musicianship and electronics whilst providing a soundtrack to an engrossing split-screen film: two cyclists racing throughout Montreal. Some of the push-button percussion irritated, this type of approach often raising ethical issues with purists, but the outcome nonetheless managed to absorb rather than gravitate towards a sterile soundscape. However, as if they stretched the piece to fill an hour, some sections ran way longer than necessary and at least 20 minutes should be chopped from future presentations. On another note, this concert was a great advert for what’s possible with Apple iTouch products.

Joe Morris / Mike Pride / Jamie Saft – “The Spanish Donkey”

Joe Morris: electric guitar; Mike Pride: drums; Jamie Saft: synthesizers.

An aptly-named project considering that a “Spanish Donkey” is a medieval torture device; this high-intensity free-rock jam delved into a Peter Brötzmann Machine Gun-inspired universe of raw, hostile skronk. If this concert was on SoundCloud, the visual would be a solid block from beginning to end. Sadly, the show was a technical failure; Morris’ heavily-distorted guitar work, entirely reminiscent of Caspar Brötzmann’s but lacking in definition, blended with Saft’s heavy drones and bass modulations to produce a deafening wall of noise wherein only Pride’s crisp, furious drumming was perceptible. The low-frequency vibrations produced by Saft added to the incessant buzz by seriously rattling Pride’s drum kit. Yet, the aggressive, almost-therapeutic release provided by such a concert was, for some, a welcome change from the more acoustic and cerebral shows, and many left with a grin on their face while an equal number found the show insufferable.

John Zorn – “The Concealed”

John Zorn: direction; Joey Baron: drums; Trevor Dunn: upright base; John Medeski: piano; Kenny Wollesen: vibes; Mark Feldman: violin; Erik Friedlander: cello.

Virtuosos Mark Feldman and Erik Friedlander joined Zorn and the previous night’s lineup to offer us another world premiere, a fresh new project that combined the Nova Express ensemble with the Masada String Trio to produce music that coalesced the mystical and lyrical elements of both. Each composition, drawing once again from Zorn’s Jewish roots, were set to a mystic text and image selected by David Chaim Smith, each piece calling for a different configuration ranging from solo to duo to the sextet, while also focusing on the Masada String Trio and even offering a Nova Express composition, and as such, the unifying element wasn’t entirely obvious if not for the images, which, in themselves, didn’t really add a necessary dimension. Any which way, Zorn’s well spring of melodic imagination was once more effectively displayed, as was the ample talent of the other musicians.

Zorn Enthusiasts take note! Next year’s FIMAV will celebrate Zorn’s 60^th anniversary with a full day dedicated to Zorn projects.

Pascal-Denis Lussier

The 28th edition of Le Festival International de Musique Actuelle de Victoriaville (FIMAV) was held from May 17 to 20, presenting 19 concerts that spanned all definitions of the genre, questionably so in some instances, though always within the aggressively anti-categorization ethos that seems to be the running thread between all that, ironically, now qualifies under this broad category.

Approximately 4000 visitors attended the festival’s three venues, roughly the same as last year despite stronger pre-sales, and though this seemed to worry organizers who were banking on this year’s roster and a more traditional approach to experimentation to increase ticket sales, is it any wonder this was the case considering the current political climate combined with the harsh reality affecting such festivals? Experimental music is never an easy sell.

Not all shows can please all, but as with previous years, criticism of the 28^th edition seems to limit itself to lesser aspects that have nothing to do with the music; the lineups, the overall quality of the shows, and the judicious stage set ups and lighting which consistently lean towards “irreproachable”. The production team certainly deserves acknowledgment for yet another undoubtedly successful festival.

Day 1

Phil Minton – “Feral Choir”

Vocalist Phil Minton came to town; localites showed up, learned Minton’s hand signals and approach over the space of three evening workshops, then improvised an hour-long “choral” set under Minton’s grimaced directions and subtle hand gestures. Whether or not the improvised din, growls, laughter, shouts, and bawls produced by Minton and his 29 vocalists are in themselves worthy of dissection is moot, the exaltation witnessed on stage was contagious and entrancing; primal-scream therapy for participants and observers conducted by a passionate musician. A brilliant opener.

John Zorn – “Nova Express”
John Zorn: direction; Joey Baron: drums; Trevor Dunn: upright base; John Medeski: piano; Kenny Wollesen: vibes.

After a four-year absence from the festival, John Zorn returned with a world premiere, a William S. Burroughs-inspired project that departs from Zorn’s abstruse avant-gardism to showcase his jazz flair through an exploration of the manic neurosis that inhabits Burroughs’ novels. The use of vibraphones evoked The Dreamers, but here compositions flowed with more accessible structures that relied on elaborate orchestrations and the sheer virtuosity each player brought to the whole under Zorn’s exacting direction, whilst offering plenty of space for mind-blowing solos. Seeing Trevor Dunn on double bass in such a context sparked cognitive dissonance for some, but his versatility and skill fit the bill, notwithstanding a slight technical failing that blurred heavy basses rather than helped to define them. Wollesen, whom most may know for his drumming, provided deft mallet work and enchanting lyricism on vibes, as Medeski, leaving his Hammond behind, graced, tickled, and slammed the ivories with the usual ease that seems to contradict his skilful mix of speed, accuracy, and opulent tone colour. And Joey Baron… well, if you’re unfamiliar with the man’s playing, don’t dare speak of “best drummer” until you’ve listened to him. Incredible. Truly astonishing musicians and a well-received success.

Mary Halvorson Quintet

Mary Halvorson: electric guitar; Jonathan Finlayson: trumpet; Stephan Crump: double bass; Jon Irabagon: alto sax; Ches Smith: drums.
Despite Halvorson’s rapidly-growing reputation in and outside of the New York scene and her undeniably unique tone supplemented by pitch-change effects and a blend of feisty-yet-tender agility on guitar, the concert was a disappointment. The avant-jazz charts lacked depth albeit interesting heads that tended to go in circles rather than offer true launching points for shared exploration; most compositions were structured around the statement-solo-restatement development form, and tended to overstate their case. Some of the playing lacked oomph, particularly Finlayson’s extended trumpet solo which lacked power, the notes wet and unrounded as if he’d completely forgotten the function of his spit valve. Had Halvorson opted on offering tighter charts but more of them rather than stretching fewer to their limits, no doubt the show would have been more interesting. An artist still worth exploring; mark it down as a bad night?

Marc Montanchez

Arriving at the Casa on the late side after blowing a tire 6 blocks away, there was still a good wait in the completely packed room before the show got under way. Not this reviewer’s typical live music choice, but these people are heavy weights; so there were high expectations that something special was going to happen. Especially from Derome, who’s music I simultaneously love and dislike. The man is a monster on alto sax, one of the few who can conjure actual magic out of an instrument typically employed to allow warbling divas time for cocaine breaks. Yet he is not satisfied warping minds with this talent, and spends equal time exploring the realms of unpredictability and experimentation in the world of contemporary improvisation. So depending on what combo he’s playing with, he’s just as likely to bust out with the most killer and (tear jerking) bop-instructed sax wailing, or screech and bleat for 45 minutes whilst blowing into a variety of cereal box whistles and re-purposed flappy objects.

The trio started their set with fifteen minutes of playing with everything at their disposal. Unlike Frith and Derome, Chan kept her explorations within the mechanical limitations of her instrument. Frith mostly used his electric guitar as a sound table to excite using towels, knitting needles, chains, shoe polishing brushes, etc, while Derome took the express lane through his tickle trunk. Most of the first set was exploratory, but I found Chan to be the only one working away at conjuring plausible inventions.

Thirty five minutes later when the set was over, I contemplated leaving, but the excellent deal on Tennessee whiskey next door and the great Howling Wolf track that the DJ was playing kept me inside, so I detoured back for the second set. This time the trio took a different tack, honing their collective energy towards something approaching and even hovering above the threshold of beauty. There were moments of calm, with Chan weaving crystalline webs of tones around the droning strings and winds (mostly via e-bow and bass flute, respectively). The set ended after a long meditative passage. The room was quiet, no one clapped, the musicians were still. Then Derome whipped out a toy flute and played a ridiculous but perfectly appropriate ditty. Chan and Frith soon joined in for some more intense jamming. Again they stopped, no clapping, more music. The performance ended with much applause.

On the way home I yearned to listen to something earthy, feeling a little hollowed from the stretching my ears had undergone – which usually happens to me after listening to contemporary improv of the European school (rather than, say, African via “jazz” evolutions). At the same time, I felt like my soul had been given a big booster shot because the music those three played was the exact antithesis of sad sack language wars, Line Beauchamp, tar sands, 10 dollar tacos and all of the other lies of life.