Rah-rah: Ratatat.
By Laura Mojonnier
A snapshot of the Pop Montreal festival, Oct. 3, 4, and 5.
Day 3
Ratatat and Panther at Club Soda, 10:30 p.m.
I began Friday night, Oct. 3, with the second most-hyped show of the festival: Ratatat. (First place goes to Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds, who played Metropolis on Thursday night - not even my press pass could get me in.) It was sold out weeks before Pop began, but somehow Club Soda managed to not feel like the inside of a wet diaper in mid-July. So props to whoever was in charge of air circulation.
I saw opening act Panther over the summer with maybe 30 people in the room at an Oakland gallery smaller than my apartment, so naturally I assumed that seeing them six rows deep in a huge downtown venue was bound to disappoint. But the Portland, Ore., art-rock duo, composed of multi-instrumentalist Charlie Salas-Humara and drummer Joe Kelly, actually managed to pull it off, oozing enough delirious energy to fill the 800-person room.
Ratatat were a lot of fun, too, although their subdued, stare-at-the-floor stage presence made me reflect on the NYC combo's curious existence as sort of indie celebrities. Only in America can a nerdy, liberal arts college-bred instrumental electro-rock duo rise to legitimate fame by selling their songs to a series of corporations - including the manufacturers of the Hummer - and still establish themselves as a sine qua non of urban hipster identity. Sigh. I wonder if they ever hang out with Moby.
Day 4
Baltimore Round Robin at Eastern Bloc, 8 p.m.
So somehow I decided this show started at 8, and dragged a few of my trusting friends way the hell up north on a bus to Little Italy, only to see the bands unloading their gear off the bus as we arrived. Whoops. But two hours later, once the show began it was definitely worth it.
Twelve groups set up around around the perimeter of the room, and each played one song before deferring to the next Baltimore act. This did not proceed in a circular fashion, so half of my memories of the night involve scrambling from one side of the room to another, using my 5-foot friend as an excuse to get to the front.
Lazy Sunday pop duo Beach House headlined, and, I must say, having listened to Devotion casually over the past year, I was somewhat surprised to discover the lead vocalist is a girl. Maybe this was obvious to everyone else, but I kind of imagined a skinny, sad-eyed love puppy crooning about the etherial miss who ensnared him with her siren song. Finding out the culprit was actually a throaty chanteuse was kind of inspiring.
I also caught Santa Dads, a duo adorned in tiger costumes whose music consists primarily of the vocal interplay between the band members and spare ukulele, peppered with the occasional trumpet bit. Better than it sounds, I swear. There was also a middle-aged drummer-vocalist one-man act whose name I didn't get. It's too bad, because he was awesome.
A fresh crop of Baltimore bands played the next night, including Dan Deacon and Death Set, but I had places to be. The whole production is currently on tour, with Oberlin, Ohio; Philadelphia; and New York City to be conquered shortly.
Day 5
Wire at Theatre National, 9:45 p.m.
British post-punk legends Wire played the headlining show on the final night of the festival, apparently their first stop in Montreal since 1987. I'm pretty sure I was the only one in the room who hadn't attended the last gig.
The band - now a quartet with the addition of touring guitarist Margaret Fiedler McKinney - played a super-tight set, to the point that it was almost, well, boring. They all seemed really sober, and the vibe felt kind of...professional. The group didn't play a lot of its older material, but I guess that was to weed out the true fans. But come on, no "Map Ref. 41N 93W"? No "Three Girl Rhumba"? No "I Am the Fly?" They played "12XU" as the last song of their final finale - there were three - but at that point I just felt kind of cheap.
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