The first day of October was absolutely stacked for big concerts in the city. My hometown boy Shawn Mendes was hitting Centre Bell, and up at Place Bell, Sam Fender was touring in support of a fantastic album that I’ve had on repeat for the last few days. Yet I spent my evening at La Toscadura for one small show happening in town that I wanted to see above them all.
Montreal’s No Waves kicked off the night, and they were indie punk to their core. Simple basslines and colourfully dissonant guitar chords over fast drumming and shouted vocals that crackled from distorting. It certainly looked and sounded like a basement show, and the band’s energy was sky-high. Even through some technical issues and failing instruments, they powered through their set and left it all on stage. Surprisingly, their drummer seemed most comfortable on the mic, sharing lead vocal duties and addressing the crowd with a type of confidence that the other members didn’t quite possess.
The set was full of chaotic moments — between the technical issues, a fully unplugged performance of a song on a baritone ukulele, and unrehearsed banter that didn’t necessarily fuel the crowd. It was clunky and awkward, but endearing in a way. I’ve seen their name around and have no doubt I’ll see No Waves perform in the city again. Hopefully, I just caught them on an off night. Thankfully, for the rest of the show, the sound and technical problems didn’t carry over beyond their set.
Let me paint you a picture. It was the summer of ’22. At Born and Raised in St. Catharines, Ontario, I witnessed a band absolutely command a crowd from their first note to their very last. A wildly high-energy sound and a frontman that threw himself into mosh pits and got the people moving in a way that I’ve never seen the first band of the night ever do. I was hooked. I saw them four more times that summer. That band was The OBGMs, and since moving to Montreal from their hometown of Toronto, I’ve missed them dearly. Though I thought they were the headliners on this stop of their short run of shows, I had no doubt they’d do what they do best as direct support, and so they did.
Denz and co. ripped through their short, half-hour set, which mostly consisted of songs from their newest record, Sorry, It’s Over. With plenty of calls to jump, open the room up, even splitting the room in half, Denz confidently paraded up and down a perfectly split wall of death that ran from the front of the room to the very back before closing in on itself on his cue. Madness.
Whether it be for mainstream Canadian punk royalty like Sum 41, Billy Talent, and Alexisonfire, or as direct support on small runs like this one, The OBGMs have cemented themselves, in my mind, as the greatest opening band you could ask for. Ten gigs in, and I’m still itching to finally catch them at a headlining show one of these days.
After a quick changeover, Teen Mortgage graced the stage with yet another flavour of punk. With a much punchier drum kit and a projector displaying images that complemented their horror-punk edge, the garage-punk two-piece wasted no time letting their stance be known, kicking their set off with a “Fuck Israel. Free Palestine.” As they stormed through their setlist, a sizeable pit was self-sustaining throughout the rest of the night. Semi-coherent speeches to the crowd and calls from frontman James Guile to mosh or dance a certain way were largely ignored as the kids in the centre kept moving to the beat of their own drum. The fuzzy, effect-heavy guitars were a touch psychedelic at times and fit right into the dark, liminal space that is La Toscadura. Teen Mortgage were all business, no bullshit. With a final sizeable circle pit and an enthusiastic encore, they wrapped their set just in time for the city’s transit to start running again and get us home. No doubt the STM strike deterred a few people from turning up tonight, but those that made it were rewarded with a wonderful show full of surprises.
Review – Mathieu Perrier
Photos – Simon Wellwood
