I wonder if the good folks that run the Katakombes are trying to save on their hydro bill, as neither the air conditioning nor the lights seemed to be switched on, on this hot, muggy, stormy Montreal night. Don’t get me wrong! I love the place and the folk that run it, and it is after all the predecessor of the mighty Salle de L’X, where I spent a large portion of my youth.
King Cans were the first up on the stage, and I had originally thought that the dimmed lights were at the request of the band. Perhaps they played a moody style of Oi that was suited for the near darkness that swept the hall. After a few unsuccessful attempts at photographing the boys; I switched off the camera and stepped away to watch the show. One of the members, the guitarist on stage right, seems to play in about eighty percent of the Oi bands in this city, and and there are quite a few! Dedication, I suppose.
Local Punk troupe The Horny Bitches were up next, and the lights were slightly brighter. Not by much, but progress is progress, is it not? The all-girl group enthusiastically tore through their material and seemed to be having as much fun as the people watching them were and I love to see that. Playing mostly material from their debut album with a pair of new tracks mixed into the array as well. I also need to express how nice of a bass guitar the band’s bassist has. That thing is a piece of art in itself. At this point, my phone rang so I stepped outside to answer it. To my surprise, leaning up against the wall of the club was the man himself, Lars Frederiksen, happily taking selfies with some of the tobacco types that had taken to the fresh night air, to fill it with smoke, of course.
Then came The Prowlers. I think. I can’t be sure because I couldn’t actually see the band that was on the stage. It sure did sound like them, though, so there’s that. Progress had obviously relapsed. It felt like a cave and looked like a cave, and as the sweat ran down every possible part of my body, I once again came to the reality that taking any photos here was absolutely futile. So I hit the bar, and watched the band do what they do. If anybody in the room didn’t already know these guys were all about anti-fascism, they sure as hell did by the time the set was done. With songs such as Oi! Against Racial Prejudice and Anti-fascist Skin, how could you not? As is always the case, The Prowlers were great and the crowd danced their approval.
As The Old Firm Casuals took to the stage, plugging in their own gear and instruments, sound checking themselves without the assistance of a roadie or anything like that. Probably the way things were before …And Out Come the Wolves came out and shot Lars and Rancid all the up to the upper echelon of bands of that era. And it was incredible to see. Out came the storied Gibson guitar with the massive Millwall FC logo stuck to the front of it, and with a nod to his left, he asked his guitarist if he was ready. And so it began.
I hoped that the lights would be better, but I was barking up the wrong tree. With the opening notes came the mosh pit. Elbows flew, boots skanked across the dance floor. Somebody slammed into me, drinks went flying and I accidentally Trudeau’d some poor girl right in the tit. She didn’t seem to care though, so that’s good. By the time the next song was over, the already boisterous crowd were in a frenzy, screaming along to the lyrics of Perry Boysî, which in my opinion is the band’s best song to date, and the energy levels just grew from there. The band took a no nonsense approach, playing track after track without breaks between the songs.
Eventually there was a quick pause, time enough to announce the imminent release of the band’s next EP – A Butchers Banquet, that is set for a June release date, followed by the song of the same name. Although The Old Firm Casuals technically play a different style from that of Rancid, you can still hear hints in the song writing that scream Rancid. It was also the case with Lars Frederiksen & The Bastards’ songs.
Lars stopped playing mid-way through the last song to mock a couple of people that had engaged in wee bit of the ol’ fisticuffs. I know! A punch up at a Skinhead show! Unheard of! Tempers were probably enraged due to the sweatshop like conditions …or too much cider? Whatever. “We’re trying to finish our last fucking song we can go get some poutine” exclaimed Lars, before telling the brawlers to take it to the bathroom, jerk off and feel better about the world. Instead they were escorted off the floor and out the door and the show picked up where it had left off. I was at the bar, ordering another pint of cider from a bartender that looked as if she was ready to pass out on the spot. Obviously suffering from the heat like the rest of us, or probably worse come to think of it.
In my mind, this will go down as being one of those shows people boast about years down the line, about having seen Lars Frederiksen at such a small venue. How a member of the mighty Rancid strolled about the crowd and hung out with the mob outside the venue, cool as fuck. One of those conversations that ends with “You should have been there”; and you should have. It might never happen again.
Review & photos – Kieron Yates
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