(*WARNING*... super-long review ahead... it's for four days, give me a break!)

2004 was a strange year in a lot of ways, from American politics, to changing climates, to CordMag launching. And here in the southwest corner of mainland Canada, New Music West also changed significantly from years past. An event usually held in May, it was cancelled due to numerous plain ol' music industry troubles, and somehow managed to drag, kick and crawl its way back to some semblance of life enough to be able to actually occur in November. So, half a year later than we're accustomed to, in the cool, drizzly (actually the weather was fairly cooperative on the whole) Vancouver winter, the city got set with much less fanfare for the festival.

Now it should be noted that this thing has had its share of issues in past years anyhow, which must have contributed to its downfall. It's gone through poor organization, poor venue choices, horrible rescheduling, inconsistent set times, and some fairly unspectacular hoopla in general. Keynote speakers were sometimes great (Gene Simmons, I'm looking at you...), sometimes lame, and sometimes couldn't even be bothered to write a speech. Awards shows seemed small-budget, even when tossed alongside the East Coast Music Awards. "Premium" shows that are announced as being part of the festival detract from the indie shows, and only let a handful of wristband-holders in, but if those shows have too many pre-purchased ticketholders lined up, people with wristbands are out of luck, even to watch opening acts. But while the purported promises of emerging and young bands having a life-altering experience and getting snapped up by one of the *thousands* of high-faluting record label scouts in town for it, don't really happen, it still served its main purpose - to open up the city for a few days out of the year, so that people who normally wouldn't see a certain band, or any band at all, might go out and try on something new. It's not run nearly as smoothly or with as much excitement and praise as anything in Toronto, or Texas, or New York... well, just about anywhere actually. But it throws together hundreds of bands, and lots of curious people. The bands might not walk away with a record contract, but they'll likely have picked up some new fans, and who can complain about that?

This year though, everything seemed smaller. There were fewer bands, fewer venues, much less notice about applying and schedules, I assume less wristbands sold, and even less premium shows, some of which decided to strip themselves of their NMW status altogether. As for me, I have almost doubled my band-viewing consumption every year I've covered the fest. Considering that brought 2003's total to something like 75 bands, I couldn't imagine stretching myself much further. So I went the other way entirely. I just pretty much took it easy. And you know, it was pretty neat. I would have preferred to see more bands I was unfamiliar with, but being able to watch full sets and really get into it all was quite a refreshing (and less exhausting) change. It's a bit painful actually to think of all the bands that I missed out on. It still all blurs together though and I can hardly remember who played what night. I'll do my best.

The first night was really mellow. One destination - the Commodore Ballroom. I was guilty this year of partaking shamelessly in the premium shows, but they all included some of those bands you just would kick your own ass from here to Duluth if you missed them. At least you should. Tonight, on Wednesday, which is the most rockingest day of the week (it was my birthday - of course it was rockin'!), the grand ol' Ballroom was hosting The Trews, Matt Mays + El Torpedo, and The Waking Eyes. I've almost said enough, but it's okay, I'll go on.

After having seen the Waking Eyes and their boundless energy squashed onto the tiny stage at the Media Club, a room that can barely contain their uppitiness, it was indescribably fantastic to see this band kick it on the big Commodore stage. They looked pretty happy to be there too. The smart people who already knew the band were up front eagerly swivelling and bouncing around the the band's squally vocals, catapulting guitars, and absolute mayhem. They stuck mostly to tunes off the Video Sound disc, and ended the set off again with "I Am The Walrus." By that time, the floor had filled up a fair bit, you know, people looked like they were really starting to get it. The huge chorus of voices doing all the 'kookookachoo' stuff at the end was pretty cool, if I do say so myself. It's a band to really go apeshit over. Even when I just listen to the CD I start swinging limbs around without a care. Yes, all my books may have fallen off their shelves, but hell, I got a workout and feel just that much closer to the music. Woo!

So that was some freaky rock and roll to start off our night. What's the second course??

Well, it's Matt Mays + El Torpedo. If you've been with Cord from the beginning, you've already taken in their insightful interview and ten questions segment with us. No doubt you laughed, maybe you were moved, maybe you were just rooting for the shark. They didn't come back to us until NMW, half a year later. And, granted, they were playing to an audience that wasn't really on their level back when they opened for Buck 65, but there was a huge increase in people who were interested in watching this band, and who knew the songs. Rows upon rows of them waited with soft smiles for the Nova Scotians to keep up the tempo. Only, they kind of don't. They're a bit of the eye of the storm in this case, being sandwiched between two much rowdier bands. That's entirely fine though - it's a very different band. I always will describe the vibe of MM+ET as 'gentle.' That's not to say they can't really rock out when it suits them, but they seem to opt for a more earthy, peace, love and harmony kind of rock. They come forth with a huge blues and country influence, and the tunes are more plodding and sultry, thick and loud and soulful. Mays can really belt it out and pluck some heart strings. Not all this music is super-happy stuff, and it sounds it too. But yes, gentle. Like they're the good boys of the group (um... just don't tell your mom the truth or she'll never let you out of the house again).

At the time of publishing this review, their new album is slated for release in late March 2005, and we got a good dose of a preview of it here. Taking top honours so far is this tune that, if I recall correctly, has a name way too long to remember, so it's just referred to as "September." A scratchy, yelled bluesy melody is broken into its lines with full-band hand claps. I swear though, they used to do more claps. Anyhow, it's just the coolest song I may have ever heard, and it's executed live flawlessly. I can't imagine band rehearsals in the early goings, and trying to get that clapping thing straight with everyone. Fly on the wall...

So now that everyone was in a contemplative mood from MM+ET, what's for dessert? All that starry-eyed melan-rockin-choly bliss was about to be shattered into a jillion pieces by the Trews. Their rock and roll also throws around heaps of blues overtones, but they do it in a much more frenetic, guitar-wanking, showy way than El Torpedo. I've seen them now a bunch of times in Vancouver, and their set never really changes too much, but there's a few things about it that are always exciting to watch, and always a marvel. There's a lot of microphone sharing going on amongst these guys. Colin MacDonald's voice quavers constantly - it's really strange and unique. The band brought up the members of the other bands from the night for a giant singalong at some point. Man that was a lot of people on stage at once, performing to an increasingly-drunk and fuzzy-happy audience. It was pretty full in there by this time, including a myriad of label folks and members of other bands that would be performing throughout the weekend. But, the absolute prime point for the Trews set is when lead guitarist John-Angus MacDonald has his way with a solo. Oh. My. God. I am rarely taken from a state of "yeah this is a pretty fun show" to being absolutely, unequivocably turned the hell on so fast, but the second this guy starts doing his sex-face, drop-to-knees, slide around the stage, guitar up, down, forward, behind the head, on his back, over-the-top soloing for, I don't even know... five minutes? Ten? I lost count. You just get drawn in by it. It's incredible. That's the best thing about a Trews show for sure. You could pretty well feel every girl in the room melt, and all the guys whoop with awe (and probably a measure of envy). Outta control!

That wrapped up the show to kick of NMW. There was a lot of rock, but a lot of big-family friendly atmosphere, which is really nice. When I say the show is over though, it definitely doesn't mean the night is over. NMW always brings out the weirdest assortment of parties, presumably because so many band members who all know each other, but are from different cities and rarely even see one of ther buddy's bands, never mind a dozen or two, just go completely insane with having so many people around with which to party. So I met up with a couple people I haven't seen in months, and as we all stumbled and tripped our way down Granville Street, we managed to pick up quite the cavalcade, storm sleeping people at a hotel, and completely take over an entire bar and basically force it to stay open much later than it normally would on a Wednesday. I'm sure half the people in that room didn't even know their names any more by the end of the night.

Even I played the role of hotel for the night for some guys who might have otherwise ended up sleeping in a cold van 'down by the river,' and the next morning was bright and cheery and welcoming. My charges and I walked around for a while on this holiday morning, trying to find a Japanese restaurant that would be open for lunch. And after that, it was time to recover and get ready for Day 2.

Nice and early in the evening (a point the band was awfully miffed with), Retrograde had a set at the Roxy. This band has been around in its present incarnation for a few years now, and much longer as a whole. They seem to build up a head of steam at times, but then it never boils over into superstardom, which is pretty ridiculous considering the amount of talent they have. But for a band this long-established in the city, being tossed haphazardly into such an early-evening slot, when a lot of people are still eating dinner or whatever, was really a shame and fairly ludicrous. Particularly looking at some upstart bands' headlining slots. Strange. Well anyhow, the turn out was actually okay for being at that time. The benefit here to a degree is that there aren't a lot of sets on at the same time, so people can stop by this one while they wait for the rest of the night to get going. Retrograde has an aura. That's right, an aura. They are accomplished, loud, creative, and really really rock. They're tight and slick, crafting rolling, haunting, serious songs. The vocals swap between two distinct personalities - Toby Hulse, with the yells, wails, and drawn-out tics. And Mark Lazeski carries the low-key, saucy, husky tones. They complement so well, create this vocal battle that mixes together so well. They got some people dancing, definitely cheering. They'd released their EP about a month earlier, and have the new full-length coming out in spring 2005 - I'm envisioning big things on the horizon for them this time. Hopefully they get that push from somewhere so they can get that boilover they've deserved for so long. They played a great set here, maybe fuelled by their dissatisfaction at the time slot. Good for them!

I hung around for a bit there, and then moseyed down the street to the Cellar, a neat little underground bar that, well, looks like a cellar. Moneyshot was getting ready to go on stage, and a couple of them were sitting in the corner, fuming over whatever band was on stage at the moment. The band wasn't very good, corny as hell, and were way over their allotted set time. Suffice to say, they made one record-breaking set change afterwards. I only hung out here for a couple of songs unfortunately - the late start time made my sticking around impossible. All the guys in Moneyshot look really different from when I last saw them. It's amazing what hairstyles can do to people. But they went at it like I always remember it. It's kind of over the top. They're pretty campy, playing a straight-ahead, Canadiana-type punk. They throw their legs wide, toss arms in the air and heads backwards, and during the first song, maybe choked at the huge horseshoe of leery, stand-back people who were nowhere near the stage (the best place to experience the live thing... what's wrong with people?!), Tyson Yerex stepped off the low stage and went dancing and leaping around the room, nearly running over anyone who stepped into his path. People barely responded. A few smirks. What a weird city.

I left Moneyshot to keep on with their chanting, yelling songs, and walked back up the stairs and south-east a couple blocks to Richards, where one of the no-longer-NMW premium shows was about to get underway. I scooted up front, anticipating a huge audience surge for the second act, which I needed to be in prime position to shoot. There was another band opening the night though, one I hadn't heard or heard of before, and hadn't managed to research before the gig. I had no clue what they were about, but within the first few notes, I praised myself for having made an early exit from the previous show (not that I don't think Moneyshot is worth it, but here was one band out of the weekend that was actually a new discovery for me - that's always worth it). This was Memory Bank. The dark, eerily-lit stage was filled by the band, and without warning, a shrill noise leapt through the crowd, and the two fellows who were closest to me began to fling their heads around and stomp away wildly. A high-pitched, very effects-laden guitar carried the song, and butter-smooth vocals climbed over top. Oddly calming images were projected over them and onto a screen behind the stage. And I was in love. Craig Browne's chilling voice flew all over the scale, and the onstage activity was kept fluid and vibrant. Every new song was another surprise, another incredible blend of sounds and feelings. I don't know where they've been hiding out, but I'm sure glad they emerged from their little cave. They are astounding.

As anticipated, when they left the stage, a host of hip little girls and boys came shuffling up to the stage, brandishing glasses of wine and bottles of Heineken. We were about to witness this chrysalis effect that Boy had undergone over the prior year or so. Now finally a solid band rather than singer Stephen Kozmeniuk and whoever he feels like taking along at the moment, the sound turned in a new direction to bring it closer to the mainstream, ergo, to as many people as possible. In the past, Kozmeniuk was always pretty lowkey live. He had a softer sound, played smaller rooms, and was always very in-control and seemed a bit serious. Well look what happened?! He brought out the guitars en masse, threw down some crazy keyboards, altered the dynamic entirely... heck sometimes there's three guitars going on at once up there. The show is way livelier - Kozmeniuk now doesn't seem to mind pulling out the odd rock stance, and everyone is definitely having a good time on stage. Everyone was casting smiles around and goofing off with each other. Guitarist Rolla Olak fell to his knees at the edge of the stage a few times, which is something he's done as long as I've known him. He's always been into that coolrock kinda thing. Live layers a few dimensions on the songs from how they're presented on their record. They lose the rarer instruments (the strings etc), but gain this flowing, scrappy energy that was sort of slicked out of the album. Two very different and very good animals. Right now, the audience is eating it up and having a great time of it, but they still seem a bit wary... they aren't quite sure yet, this is still all too new. But next time this band plays Vancouver, and one of them stands at the edge of the stage with a guitar in the air, soloing to his heart's content with heel set a-tapping, there's going to be a few hands rubbing at those legs. They want a piece of it, you know. Boy is doing its part to bring back what rock is all about - huge guitars (as many as possible), tons of fun, a dash of aloofness, and really great jeans.

Somehow, even more people trundled forwards for the headlining set by Pilate. What a beautiful band. I've said it before and I'll say it again - Todd Clarke's voice is perhaps better live than it is on record. It's so sweeping and fluid, and brings forth so much intensity live. Honestly, I wasn't full-on in the throng for this set - I was carrying on with a bunch of maniacs near the back for a while, but as a testament to the enrapturing abilities of this band, the second Pilate started up with "Alright," honestly one of the most pure songs I've ever had run through my ears, everyone around me, and myself, stopped whatever mayhem they were involved in and looked up to watch. I swear there were tears glistening in every eye. I mean seriously, there were wrestling matches, people breaking beer bottles on other peoples' heads, dancing on tables, gymnastics, all manner of things that were keeping people from paying attention, but everyone just knew. Everyone stopped what they were doing in mid-air/stride/word. They just knew when something incredible was about to happen. And it did - where the music all but stops and the only thing happening is this perfect note sustained by Clarke. Pilate can make wonders.

Well for heaven's sake, it's still NMW and that still warrants a party late into the night. Of course one of the bands didn't manage to actually load their gear out for an hour or so after they were supposed to, so that delayed things a bit. As we wandered around the city in the dying stages of the evening, we came across some confused-looking, straggling Memory Bank members, who were looking for an open bar and still pondering their accomodation options. As for me, I decided to call it a night, bid the pizza-eating musicians, on their way back to the safety of the hotel, a good night and headed on my way.

The third day of the festival was a pretty long day. It was a Friday night, so things were really hopping downtown. There was a huge clash of the rock kids heading to the various shows, and the club kids heading out to dance. The very first thing I did was travel over to Richards to see a super-early set by the Marble Index. Another band that finally graduated the dinky Media Club stage, trading it in for the tall, well-lit environment of Richards. I adore this band. Everything they do is just awesome. And if you've ever seen one of their shows, you'll know why they're awesome. When he's not tossing around his sparkly guitar, singer Brad Germain is likely to be found almost falling off the stage edge busting a move, clapping wildly, or charging around the room with a MuchMusic camera man in tow, grabbing girls and dancing, and really taking advantage of the fact that most people who don't approach the stage at a show do so because they're for some reason mildly embarrassed at the thought of appearing to be enthusiastic about something. I think he just found a great way to deal with the awkwardness of playing to a skeptical room of people. He's just over the top completely, it's so much fun. Not to mention his ongoing tradition of inviting audience interaction by asking (or telling) us after every song that it was, "Awesome. Right guys? Wasn't that song awesome?" The three members of the band manage to sound like a lot more than three members. It's rock, it's roll, it's all good.

Lucky me got to see the entire set, and then off I went to the Roxy to catch the final couple songs of Marianas Trench. It had been a very long time since I'd seen them, and since then they'd undergone a significant line-up change, and quite a facelift to their music. They are all amazing singers - in fact, that's a prerequisite for being part of the band. While their songs used to be much more geared towards showing off their barbershop... uh... quintet-esque vocal stylings, they've decided apparently to head more into the realm of modern rock music, taking care to keep the wailing voices in the mix. It's still a really neat thing they do, setting themselves apart from other young rock bands. Lead guy Josh Ramsay can morph his voice into a tortured, shredding screech, or a soft, lilty pass, and he can make that change in a split second. These guys need to insure those pipes - it's their absolute livelihood. The audience was copious and attentive, with lots of dancers, and dare I say, quite a flock of ladies.

Soon Marianas Trench made way for The Years. Time was growing short again, and I only stuck around for a song or two. It's a big change between the two bands. The Years are still rock n' roll, but they're far more demure. There's no flipping out, no going completely bonkers. Everything they do is with a measured cool. But it's solid stuff, really harkening back to the 60's and 70's heydays of gritty, toothy, dirty rock. It seemed like they were having a good set, and I left them to their business to travel over to the Buffalo Club.

The Buff, as we affectionately know the place, is an odd bar. It's one of Vancouver's newest, and it's laid out fairly well, but has a questionable decor. A buffalo head adorned with women's undergarments hangs above the bar, and peculiar mint-green stripes zigzag down the walls. But anyhow, here tonight was a Bif Naked-hosted Her Royal Majesty's Records showcase. She had brought all her charges out to entertain this evening, and the kids who were about to take the stage are absolutely mind-boggling. Bring on The Heck. I never see anyone wank around a guitar like this anymore. It's absolutely campy, it's completely oldschool hair metal, but it's done with such panache. And there's a chick drummer, who also sings. And... here's the clincher... these guys are not even legal to be in the bar they were playing in. What, you say? You must be mistaken, Andy, there's no way such kids can harbour such talent. Well, you fools, go give them a look and you'll be equally floored. These guys just scream their heads off and whip around on those guitars faster than should be legal. They have all the rock posturing down pat, and with so much amazing live presence at such a tender age, you just know they're going to be a phenomenon before too long. I mean, how could they not? They're getting started so early, and they already absolutely kick it. Just imagine them when they're, gosh, 21. 25. My god, 30 is practically a lifetime away for them. Look out world.

Later in the evening, I made a return to the Buffalo Club to see The Almighty Truth. The lead guy in this band is also Bif Naked's bassist, and she watched him from the side of the stage like a proud parent. He coaxed the audience in slickly and just went manic - he's dressed really well, suit, you know how it is. Sweating like mad and just making these twisted, evil faces. He's got that rip-roaring rock stance, feet as wide as possible, leaning back... he's a flipping animal up there. And all this was backed by the enigmatic Scotty "Too Hotty" McCargar, who just can't refrain from playing in practically every band in the city for at least a gig or too. What a showman. And everyone loves him. It was loud and trundling. I should probably see them again. I liked it, but I should see them again.

Most the rest of my evening, intermittently, was spent at the Penthouse. Every year, this strip club turns into a music venue for the festival, confusing sleazy old men who wander on down for a night out and then get really angry that they can't watch their ladies. But that aside, it somehow always manages to attract the coolest, most 'it' shows, the ones that people line up for, or that everyone gravitates to at the end of the night from all corners of the city. In this particular evening, it was playing host to the Boompa Records showcase. For those unfamiliar, Boompa is right about to kick your ass with all its sweltering-hot bands. I'm not kidding, all of them are gold, and all of them are at least a little bit quirky. Or, maybe it's the crowd making it quirky. During the Dudes' set, Vancouver everyman Greg "Goose" MacDonald suddenly appeared with a cowbell (of course) wandering around the audience, and later could be seen stagefront bumping and grinding with some other guys. It was actually a bit obscene, but it is the Penthouse after all.

Run Chico Run was weird. That's not a revelation or anything - I'm just stating a fact. Two guys, both kind of gangly looking, swapping back and forth on drums and whatnot, singing these gallopy little tunes. I unfortunately missed My Project Blue by about half a second, but I'm sure their set was great. It was at the very least well-dressed. The Salteens were of course a good, boppy, happy-times party, and Leeroy Stagger was also quite killer. Now this is a guy who's got to be on the very very edge of something enormous. He's like our own duskier version of Ryan Adams, playing lonely, heartbreaking country-styled rock songs. He's got a hazy, forced-sounding voice - and a band who can't leave well enough alone. Not being able to resist the temptation of the brass poles on the stage, guitarist Travis Smythe, as could well be expected from him, gave us a lovely demonstration on what a goofy male not-naked musician would do with one.

So that was pretty much night number three. Many people wandered the city until late in the night, as everyone was drunk and hunting down 99-cent pizza slices or McDonald's. Streetside entertainment was had by way of Tyson Yerex, who you heard about earlier. His never-ending barrage of outlandish tales continued here from his earlier dramatic exploits at the Penthouse. And everywhere you look through the streets of Vancouver, you can see people walking around with guitars. What a beautiful sight.

Day four was a happy day for Cord. I first went down to Voda, usually a very clubby-club, to see Whitfield. The bar is amazing... really amazing. It looks a bit like a clubhouse in the woods that was built in the 70's. It was very early though, and not a huge crowd was in attendance. Heck, when I got there, the doors weren't even open yet. Whitfield eventually decided to just go on, and that they did. They're a really super and beautiful band, but I could see them suffer a bit for the low crowd. But downtroddeness is not becoming of them for a number of reasons. Certainly when they're more chipper they put on a better show, but also, what has to be considered is the dire time slot they had and the fact that they're still pretty darn new to Vancouver. And I mean, look at Retrograde the night before with their weird time slot - so in Vancouver, there's never any promises. You can't predict how many people will show up at one time for a show, you can't base your successes on the size of the city or the time you've spent together as a band. But this incredible, floaty, chiming Brit-culled music is something that a lot of people are into these days, so they really just need one tiny chance pulled in from somewhere and people will be all over them. In the meantime, it's something to relax to in the early goings this night.

And then, I went up to the Buffalo Club to join the shindig that was going on there. Yes, my friends, the Cord co-sponsored Cazart! Records showcase. Now it's important to note that most of these bands aren't actually signed to Cazart!, but are instead just distributed, shopped, supported and helped out by them. It's helmed by Chris Brandt, a guy who really knows his stuff, so they're a good bunch to be associated with. My reviewing capacity this evening was limited due to the ever-present need to schmooze, but we were sufficiently charmed, awed, and rocked by all those performing. A nice surprise was the well-anticipated Doubting Paris, a kind of dreamy British-sounding rock band. We were woo'd by Fraser MacKenzie's beautiful voice in the Blue Alarm, and set to dancing by Motion Soundtrack.

Following the festivities there, I still had time to burn on down to the Media Club to see the Harlots. I had watched them perform once before, during a small tenure in which the band was called Raised By Ghosts. That was in the band's hometown of Winnipeg, three and a half years earlier. Amazing how time flies. Well they were back with all their well-coiffed, well-dressed, well-done-ness. They're a bit punk and a bit glam, nothing too out of the ordinary, but nicely presented. And you know, there's that one song that's so haunting and beautiful... I wish I was alien / gorgeous intelligent... I nearly fainted when I heard it because hitherto I had actually forgotten that song was something they did. It was pretty special, and a nice way to end the night, and my NMW 2004 experience.

But not quite.

People straggled. A lot. Maybe more than after the Memory Bank, Boy and Pilate gig. The lights in the club were actually turned on full blast to drive everyone out, and once the remaining people consisted only of band members and friends, the bar put up the window panels, locked the door, and turned the lights back down again. The beer had run dry, until someone came out and handed three beers to one of the guys in the Harlots. Sweet!, we all thought as a bottle was passed to me. But then everyone just about gagged. Non-alcoholic... and really bad non-alcoholic. What are they trying to pull? Where did this stuff come from anyhow? It has no business in a bar. It was soon abandoned, everyone found a car, and travelled to Kitsilano (I think - I actually wasn't paying close attention to where we were) to join some of the band's old friends at their house. This was as chilled as an afterparty can get. A dozen people having a few drinks, sitting around the edges of a huge living room, feasting on curry and apple pie that the host had made. A few glasses were broken and shenanigans pulled on sleeping roommates, and then in a flurry of drunken cosmic ideas, we had a makeshift salon on our hands. The Harlots are hairstylists, and singer Buck Garinger decided to take on some haircutting challenges in the kitchen while so drunk he could barely see. But he turned over into a vision of quick-fingered concentration as he worked with a combination of dull, sharp, big, and small scissors. And he did quite well, thank you.

And so ended NMW 2004 for this girl. Sunday had a few shows as well, but I didn't make it to any of them. We may be on the way up with this festival. It's always hard to tell. I end up having a good time and feeling like i saw some worthwhile stuff, but it's often the fondness of the company that makes it so. Anyhow, another year marked, and off I go awaiting the next.

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Andy Scheffler
Published : February 2005.