The Montreal Show or Tabernak!
Driving directions, driving directions… Where are the fracking maps?
Turn around, drive back home and run upstairs. Look in bedroom. Not there. Look in kitchen. Nope. Bathroom? Uh uh. Living room…oh yeah I put them in the glove compartment in the van. Doh!
Drive from High Park to John Street to pick up S. Drive to Union Station. Pick up JF. Meet N at a gas station in Whitby. All aboard the band wagon. Let’s go….
Five-ish hours later, I take the wrong exit coming out of a tunnel. We are lost. S questions N, gets driving directions from JF using Miss GPS. We are saved.
A l’hotel, we drop off our personal accoutrements and shortly thereafter head to the venue. Rue Crescent is narrow with cars parked on both sides. Parking costs $20. Nice. We walk over to check out the bar. One and a half narrow, barely-held-together-by-splinters staircases later, we enter a dark room. Hockey game blaring from a flat screen Ultra TV. Beer-swilling, jersey-wearing hockey jocks screaming at the tops of their lungs. Can we fit the drum set on that platform looking thing? Oh god.
Flash back to an earlier phone conversation…
S - Can you fit a 4-piece band with a full drum set, a bass rig, two guitar amps and pedals?
BAR - Oh ya, absolutely. NO problem.
Later telephone conversation…
JF - Just calling to confirm the details of the show. Are we still on for April 17th?
BAR - Yes.
JF - And just to confirm, we play around 12:45 am, and the three bands split the admission from the door, right?
BAR - Actually, it’s a benefit concert now, so you won’t be getting paid.
JF - Oh, what’s the benefit for?
BAR - I don’t know, you’ll have to ask the other bands when you get here. We’ll give you free booze though.
JF - Ok.
We load our gear into the bar and begin to rearrange tables and chairs (careful to not disrupt the screaming hockey jocks) to make enough room to squeeze ourselves and our stuff into the corner. Success. I’m actually impressed.
We go back to the hotel. Get spiffy. Get dinner at Commensal - a super delicious vegetarian buffet. Walk back to the venue in the rain.
JF and S ask the bar for a free drink. They say no…maybe later depending on how the night goes. What does that MEAN? We just drove 6 hours and booked a hotel room to play for an unknown “benefit” show and now no drinks? Ummm… The bar dude looks all sketched out on something though. Weird vibe. We don’t really want to talk to him anymore.
We find out that we are now slotted for 2 am. The venue has been double booked. Great. Oh well, at least the bars close 4 am in Montreal. Lots of time. Hopefully there is still a crowd here…
We drink six-dollar beers. And wait…
11 pm - There are supposed to be two bands before us. Sip.
12 am - Apparently there are three. Drink, drink… N plays with his iPhone.
12:45 am - Nope, there are actually four before us. Beer, tequila, beer. I hope all of the bands are enjoying using our drum kit and bass rig tonight.
S and I decide to venture out to the van to grab the merch. We traverse through puddles of mud.
Me - Do you have a van key?
S- (searches around) I can’t find it! Do you have one?
Me - It’s not in my bag. Oh. My. God. We left all three van keys back at the hotel.
We take a cab to the room, grab the keys and cab back. Get merch Go back to bar.
N - (looking up from his iPhone) You guys took a long time!
1:45 am - JF starts to set up his bass to prepare to play. Another band comes and sets up their guitars. Ok, there are five bands before us. Tabernak!. Speed tablet. Play pool. I kick ass, but the game is eventually botched by N, who starts to place the losing team’s balls in the pockets.
2:40 am - We’re up. Setting up our guitars & pedals.
2:45 am -We begin to play. Sounds great for a small room. Happily, the place is packed with bodies to absorb the bounce. Spin. Great audience, awesome response. Walk Away. Juggernaut. Best response yet. This little ditty sure is a crowd pleaser.
3:00 am - The bar owner tells us that we have to stop playing. Live music can only go until 3 am. We are stunned. Don’t Montreal bars stay open until four? I see JF talking to the owner…it’s getting heated. The audience starts to chant ‘one more, one more, one more.’ S raises his hands and everyone cheers and chants louder. I look at the bar owner and say..’3 more minutes..?’ He shakes his head.
I pout a bit, then go to turn off my amp when I hear a male voice speaking angrily through the microphone. I heard things like ‘Double booked the fucking venue..’ ‘Asshole…’ ‘We came all the way from Toronto and aren’t getting paid..’, then BLANG! I turn around to see the mic stand has been knocked over and is now lying across the floor. JF finishes his speech sans-microphone in the bar owner’s face, who is trying his best to ignore the French passion oozing from JF’s very being.
This is why JF was angry. Besides the fact that we drove from Toronto to play a free show that we were supposed to get paid for and they wouldn’t even give us the promised free drinks, Quebec is his home. Many of his friends and family members, including both of his parents, showed up for this show and had been waiting hours and hours and HOURS for us to play. Some of them had also driven hours to get to Montreal. Then we get cut off after 15 minutes. Ya…
The bar owner turns on some music. Very loud music…about as loud as we were playing.
We begin to pack up our gear. Lots of people come up to us and tell us that we were great and that they hope this isn’t going to colour our view of Montreal. A few people take our business card with lofty promises of great interest from some famous producer, manager or agent they know. ‘My name is Steve. Don’t forget me.’
The bar wants to give us a free drink now. ‘No thanks’ we reply. With our gear loaded, we chat a bit with one of the bands that “organized” the benefit. (As a side, I don’t know how it was a benefit because there was no one collecting money at the door that I could see.) Hopefully they found some other way to save the earth…
At around 4:30 am, we arrive back at our hotel. Starving. At around 5, S and I venture downstairs to find food. The girl at the front desk tells us that breakfast starts in an hour and that the only 24-hr pizza place around closes at 5 am. Umm…
We are too hungry to wait for breakfast. The only thing to do at this point is sleep to make the tummy growling stop.
Back at the room, JF relates the night’s story to us, sympathetically. We laugh it off, tell him not to worry about it. It’s pretty clear that he feels bad about losing it at the bar. He sort of sighs, then curls up on the bed. Someone remarks that it was my mic, not the bar’s, that got flung across the room. JF makes a squeak noise and curls up tighter. I giggle. N is talking about business things to us. I hear his voice get further and further away….
Mornin’! Great breakfast at a place called Eggspectations. Hop on the band caravan and head back to Toronto.
S is driving (because I'm pretty sure I'm still drunk). We talk about interesting things like gas mileage.
Me - Well, my dad told me that if you stay at or under 110 kmph, you get optimal gas mileage.
S - I am setting the cruise control for 110. Optimal!
We have been grooving along the 401 for a few hours, when I hear S say ‘Judy…Judy…what’s wrong, Judy..?’
The van (Judy) begins sputtering and slowing down quickly.
I look over at the gauges on the dashboard to see if the check engine light is on or if the van overheated, but they look normal. Then I see the gas gauge. “Oh my god, we’re COMPLETELY out of gas!” I yell. How the hell did that happen? We just stopped for snacks about half an hour ago and the tank was half full! Something is very wrong here.
S pulls Judy (the van) over to the side of the highway. Stalls. S tries to start it again. No way.
S calls N, who is probably ahead of us, since he drives faster than optimal, and asks if he can bring us some gas. N already has a small emergency tank of gas in his truck, so great!
About 30 minutes later, N pulls in and puts the gas in the tank. We try to start Judy. The van turns over and over but will not vroom. Shite. JF starts looking under the hood and under the van for gas leaks. Everything looks ok. Maybe it wasn’t enough gas. N calls a tow truck to bring some gas. If the gas doesn’t work, we’ll get towed into Kingston.
I walk over to some train tracks behind some bushes to pee. Unzip…there’s a train coming. Of course there is.
Walk back to the car. I throw rocks at the highway sign, trying to hit the Tim Horton’s logo. Transport trucks honk at me.
S and JF bond over trying to flatten pennies at the train tracks. Nearly deafen themselves.
N plays with his iPhone.
Sometime later the tow truck comes. Gives us about 10 litres of gas and charges us $100. Vrooooooom. Phewffff! Gas gauge is busted. I ask you…do tow truck drivers decide to get tattoos or do tattooed people decide to become tow truck drivers?
And that’s the Montreal show. It was whirlwind of weird and wonderful. Wonderful were the fans and the food. Weird was everything else. And now I’m tired and have a cold. Montreal needn’t worry though. We’ll be BAAAACK.
T
Turn around, drive back home and run upstairs. Look in bedroom. Not there. Look in kitchen. Nope. Bathroom? Uh uh. Living room…oh yeah I put them in the glove compartment in the van. Doh!
Drive from High Park to John Street to pick up S. Drive to Union Station. Pick up JF. Meet N at a gas station in Whitby. All aboard the band wagon. Let’s go….
Five-ish hours later, I take the wrong exit coming out of a tunnel. We are lost. S questions N, gets driving directions from JF using Miss GPS. We are saved.
A l’hotel, we drop off our personal accoutrements and shortly thereafter head to the venue. Rue Crescent is narrow with cars parked on both sides. Parking costs $20. Nice. We walk over to check out the bar. One and a half narrow, barely-held-together-by-splinters staircases later, we enter a dark room. Hockey game blaring from a flat screen Ultra TV. Beer-swilling, jersey-wearing hockey jocks screaming at the tops of their lungs. Can we fit the drum set on that platform looking thing? Oh god.
Flash back to an earlier phone conversation…
S - Can you fit a 4-piece band with a full drum set, a bass rig, two guitar amps and pedals?
BAR - Oh ya, absolutely. NO problem.
Later telephone conversation…
JF - Just calling to confirm the details of the show. Are we still on for April 17th?
BAR - Yes.
JF - And just to confirm, we play around 12:45 am, and the three bands split the admission from the door, right?
BAR - Actually, it’s a benefit concert now, so you won’t be getting paid.
JF - Oh, what’s the benefit for?
BAR - I don’t know, you’ll have to ask the other bands when you get here. We’ll give you free booze though.
JF - Ok.
We load our gear into the bar and begin to rearrange tables and chairs (careful to not disrupt the screaming hockey jocks) to make enough room to squeeze ourselves and our stuff into the corner. Success. I’m actually impressed.
We go back to the hotel. Get spiffy. Get dinner at Commensal - a super delicious vegetarian buffet. Walk back to the venue in the rain.
JF and S ask the bar for a free drink. They say no…maybe later depending on how the night goes. What does that MEAN? We just drove 6 hours and booked a hotel room to play for an unknown “benefit” show and now no drinks? Ummm… The bar dude looks all sketched out on something though. Weird vibe. We don’t really want to talk to him anymore.
We find out that we are now slotted for 2 am. The venue has been double booked. Great. Oh well, at least the bars close 4 am in Montreal. Lots of time. Hopefully there is still a crowd here…
We drink six-dollar beers. And wait…
11 pm - There are supposed to be two bands before us. Sip.
12 am - Apparently there are three. Drink, drink… N plays with his iPhone.
12:45 am - Nope, there are actually four before us. Beer, tequila, beer. I hope all of the bands are enjoying using our drum kit and bass rig tonight.
S and I decide to venture out to the van to grab the merch. We traverse through puddles of mud.
Me - Do you have a van key?
S- (searches around) I can’t find it! Do you have one?
Me - It’s not in my bag. Oh. My. God. We left all three van keys back at the hotel.
We take a cab to the room, grab the keys and cab back. Get merch Go back to bar.
N - (looking up from his iPhone) You guys took a long time!
1:45 am - JF starts to set up his bass to prepare to play. Another band comes and sets up their guitars. Ok, there are five bands before us. Tabernak!. Speed tablet. Play pool. I kick ass, but the game is eventually botched by N, who starts to place the losing team’s balls in the pockets.
2:40 am - We’re up. Setting up our guitars & pedals.
2:45 am -We begin to play. Sounds great for a small room. Happily, the place is packed with bodies to absorb the bounce. Spin. Great audience, awesome response. Walk Away. Juggernaut. Best response yet. This little ditty sure is a crowd pleaser.
3:00 am - The bar owner tells us that we have to stop playing. Live music can only go until 3 am. We are stunned. Don’t Montreal bars stay open until four? I see JF talking to the owner…it’s getting heated. The audience starts to chant ‘one more, one more, one more.’ S raises his hands and everyone cheers and chants louder. I look at the bar owner and say..’3 more minutes..?’ He shakes his head.
I pout a bit, then go to turn off my amp when I hear a male voice speaking angrily through the microphone. I heard things like ‘Double booked the fucking venue..’ ‘Asshole…’ ‘We came all the way from Toronto and aren’t getting paid..’, then BLANG! I turn around to see the mic stand has been knocked over and is now lying across the floor. JF finishes his speech sans-microphone in the bar owner’s face, who is trying his best to ignore the French passion oozing from JF’s very being.
This is why JF was angry. Besides the fact that we drove from Toronto to play a free show that we were supposed to get paid for and they wouldn’t even give us the promised free drinks, Quebec is his home. Many of his friends and family members, including both of his parents, showed up for this show and had been waiting hours and hours and HOURS for us to play. Some of them had also driven hours to get to Montreal. Then we get cut off after 15 minutes. Ya…
The bar owner turns on some music. Very loud music…about as loud as we were playing.
We begin to pack up our gear. Lots of people come up to us and tell us that we were great and that they hope this isn’t going to colour our view of Montreal. A few people take our business card with lofty promises of great interest from some famous producer, manager or agent they know. ‘My name is Steve. Don’t forget me.’
The bar wants to give us a free drink now. ‘No thanks’ we reply. With our gear loaded, we chat a bit with one of the bands that “organized” the benefit. (As a side, I don’t know how it was a benefit because there was no one collecting money at the door that I could see.) Hopefully they found some other way to save the earth…
At around 4:30 am, we arrive back at our hotel. Starving. At around 5, S and I venture downstairs to find food. The girl at the front desk tells us that breakfast starts in an hour and that the only 24-hr pizza place around closes at 5 am. Umm…
We are too hungry to wait for breakfast. The only thing to do at this point is sleep to make the tummy growling stop.
Back at the room, JF relates the night’s story to us, sympathetically. We laugh it off, tell him not to worry about it. It’s pretty clear that he feels bad about losing it at the bar. He sort of sighs, then curls up on the bed. Someone remarks that it was my mic, not the bar’s, that got flung across the room. JF makes a squeak noise and curls up tighter. I giggle. N is talking about business things to us. I hear his voice get further and further away….
Mornin’! Great breakfast at a place called Eggspectations. Hop on the band caravan and head back to Toronto.
S is driving (because I'm pretty sure I'm still drunk). We talk about interesting things like gas mileage.
Me - Well, my dad told me that if you stay at or under 110 kmph, you get optimal gas mileage.
S - I am setting the cruise control for 110. Optimal!
We have been grooving along the 401 for a few hours, when I hear S say ‘Judy…Judy…what’s wrong, Judy..?’
The van (Judy) begins sputtering and slowing down quickly.
I look over at the gauges on the dashboard to see if the check engine light is on or if the van overheated, but they look normal. Then I see the gas gauge. “Oh my god, we’re COMPLETELY out of gas!” I yell. How the hell did that happen? We just stopped for snacks about half an hour ago and the tank was half full! Something is very wrong here.
S pulls Judy (the van) over to the side of the highway. Stalls. S tries to start it again. No way.
S calls N, who is probably ahead of us, since he drives faster than optimal, and asks if he can bring us some gas. N already has a small emergency tank of gas in his truck, so great!
About 30 minutes later, N pulls in and puts the gas in the tank. We try to start Judy. The van turns over and over but will not vroom. Shite. JF starts looking under the hood and under the van for gas leaks. Everything looks ok. Maybe it wasn’t enough gas. N calls a tow truck to bring some gas. If the gas doesn’t work, we’ll get towed into Kingston.
I walk over to some train tracks behind some bushes to pee. Unzip…there’s a train coming. Of course there is.
Walk back to the car. I throw rocks at the highway sign, trying to hit the Tim Horton’s logo. Transport trucks honk at me.
S and JF bond over trying to flatten pennies at the train tracks. Nearly deafen themselves.
N plays with his iPhone.
Sometime later the tow truck comes. Gives us about 10 litres of gas and charges us $100. Vrooooooom. Phewffff! Gas gauge is busted. I ask you…do tow truck drivers decide to get tattoos or do tattooed people decide to become tow truck drivers?
And that’s the Montreal show. It was whirlwind of weird and wonderful. Wonderful were the fans and the food. Weird was everything else. And now I’m tired and have a cold. Montreal needn’t worry though. We’ll be BAAAACK.
T