An Exception to the Rule (ie. The Worst Concert Review Ever)
Originally I wasn't going to post again until I moved into a new place in Manchester and have a UK based internet source, but holy fuck, I just saw SHELLAC live and the performance was so incredible I had to rush home and post on livejournal about it.
(Hot-linked from someone's Flickr. Not from tonight's show.)
So there were these killer stacks like three mountains lining the back of the stage, and in the front you had Todd Trainer's kit set up dead centre, Steve Albini on the left and Bob Weston on the right. Right away you knew the sound was going to be up-close and personal. And the venue was the Horseshoe, for fuck's sake, and it was packed. Shellac's first show in Toronto in a million years. The men trolled out... Steve wrapped his guitar strap around his waist and hit a couple of strings. The hunched figure of Todd slumped into the kit. Bob waited patiently on the side with his bass ready to go. Then Todd raised one drum stick high in the air and the crowd went NUTS.
And I was blown away. Shellac struck it hard and they struck it LOUD. They had so much stage presence there was this fantastic awe that kept hearts thumping and heads bobbing from beginning to end. I stood in the second row behind a small couple and had the perfect view of the entire stage, with Steve Albini's sweat raining on me whenever he lurched forward to kiss the microphone.
I had my eyes locked on Todd Trainer; I hadn't witnessed such intense drumming since that first Tortoise gig I went to a while back. Bucktoothed, perspiring heavily, unhealthily skinny and talented as hell - Todd was the perfect wet dream. Call me crazy, but I couldn't even keep tabs on the number of times my mind absently thought: Fuck me. He was burning through his drumsticks and had cut his hand on some splinters, and I wanted to crawl onto stage and suck the blood off his fingers. What would it be like to straddle him while he played the drums? His wet mouth hung open in a state between orgasm and retardation. Oh my god, fuck me.
I swear to god when the they froze after their last sound, my panties were wet. They weren't going to do an encore. Started packing up. I was still in the front and Todd looked right at me - I got so nervous I actually just turned around and started to walk away. And then I was like, wait, what? So I turned back. Todd was shaking some hands. "Great show," people were saying. "Amazing technique." I had never been the fangirl type and yet I wanted to shake his hand too. I went up to him and my head said Fuck me fuck me fuck me and I blushed like crazy because for a moment I thought he had heard me. So I didn't shake his hand. He looked at me again and I mouthed "That was really inspiring" or some dumb shit like that and blushed some more. He nodded earnestly and mouthed back "Thank you." I didn't know what else to say and I was embarrassing myself so I left for real after that.
Outside on Queen Street I half-ran back home because I still had to pack for England (which I should be doing now instead of writing this crap) and half-hated myself for not having asked if Todd wanted to come home with me.
When did I become a trashy groupie?
No, seriously. I should have given it a shot. Goddamn it!
Okay. I really have to go pack now. But the point of this post is: IF YOU EVER GET THE CHANCE, GO SEE SHELLAC.
Tonight's show officially shot right to the top of my rankings for all-time favourite.
(Hot-linked from someone's Flickr. Not from tonight's show.)
So there were these killer stacks like three mountains lining the back of the stage, and in the front you had Todd Trainer's kit set up dead centre, Steve Albini on the left and Bob Weston on the right. Right away you knew the sound was going to be up-close and personal. And the venue was the Horseshoe, for fuck's sake, and it was packed. Shellac's first show in Toronto in a million years. The men trolled out... Steve wrapped his guitar strap around his waist and hit a couple of strings. The hunched figure of Todd slumped into the kit. Bob waited patiently on the side with his bass ready to go. Then Todd raised one drum stick high in the air and the crowd went NUTS.
And I was blown away. Shellac struck it hard and they struck it LOUD. They had so much stage presence there was this fantastic awe that kept hearts thumping and heads bobbing from beginning to end. I stood in the second row behind a small couple and had the perfect view of the entire stage, with Steve Albini's sweat raining on me whenever he lurched forward to kiss the microphone.
I had my eyes locked on Todd Trainer; I hadn't witnessed such intense drumming since that first Tortoise gig I went to a while back. Bucktoothed, perspiring heavily, unhealthily skinny and talented as hell - Todd was the perfect wet dream. Call me crazy, but I couldn't even keep tabs on the number of times my mind absently thought: Fuck me. He was burning through his drumsticks and had cut his hand on some splinters, and I wanted to crawl onto stage and suck the blood off his fingers. What would it be like to straddle him while he played the drums? His wet mouth hung open in a state between orgasm and retardation. Oh my god, fuck me.
I swear to god when the they froze after their last sound, my panties were wet. They weren't going to do an encore. Started packing up. I was still in the front and Todd looked right at me - I got so nervous I actually just turned around and started to walk away. And then I was like, wait, what? So I turned back. Todd was shaking some hands. "Great show," people were saying. "Amazing technique." I had never been the fangirl type and yet I wanted to shake his hand too. I went up to him and my head said Fuck me fuck me fuck me and I blushed like crazy because for a moment I thought he had heard me. So I didn't shake his hand. He looked at me again and I mouthed "That was really inspiring" or some dumb shit like that and blushed some more. He nodded earnestly and mouthed back "Thank you." I didn't know what else to say and I was embarrassing myself so I left for real after that.
Outside on Queen Street I half-ran back home because I still had to pack for England (which I should be doing now instead of writing this crap) and half-hated myself for not having asked if Todd wanted to come home with me.
When did I become a trashy groupie?
No, seriously. I should have given it a shot. Goddamn it!
Okay. I really have to go pack now. But the point of this post is: IF YOU EVER GET THE CHANCE, GO SEE SHELLAC.
Tonight's show officially shot right to the top of my rankings for all-time favourite.