by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Happening tonight is Gossip at Club Soda with openers We Are Wolves (rumour has it they just inked a deal with Epitaph’s Fat Possum sub-label—shhhh!) and Sailboats Are White. NYC noise-rock kings Unsane (featuring Montreal ex-pat/onetime Rhinolift member Dave Curren) blast their way into town on Tuesday at la Sala Rossa with Ottawa’s tech-metalheads Buried Inside and Mi Amore, so prepare for extreme heaviosity.

Here’s my personal picks for Wednesday, as Pop Montreal picks up steam: the Sainte Catherines (who just signed with Fat Wreck—shhhh!) will pack out the Main Hall on Wednesday with power thrashers …And the Saga Continues, Jesus and the Headliners and Final Baton. Before that, check out the early show put on by the loveable drunk duo that make up Mandatory Moustache, featuring MTL faves and blatant label bait the Hot Springs with Telefauna and Cavelle at le Divan Orange. The good folks at Bon Sound are doing double duty the same night by first playing host to Champion, Akido and Plaster at the Cabaret, then running things down at Quai des Brûmes with poppy hitmakers Malajube and Gwenwed. Blue Skies Turn Black present Enon, City Field, Tomorrow’s Friends and Tam and the Vampires (who may or may not have inked a deal with Thurston Moore’s Ecstatic Peace—shhhhh, you didn’t hear it here!) at la Sala Rossa. Ex-Social Register studmuffin and Pony Up! producer JF Robitaille (cough cough, just signed to NYC’s Rhythmbank Records, cough, produced by Brian Paulson, cough) proves he’s more than just another pretty face at O Patro Vys.

Well, I guess that just about wraps it up—um, wait a minute, there is still some blank space left. I guess I’ll provide my own rebuttal to Chris Hand, who recently wrote a letter in to the editor of this fine rag (see Letters, Sept. 22, “Non-Conflict and Resolution”) concerning me.

Dear Mr. Hand,

I would never stoop to the level of ever mentioning any event I may be associated with (cough, Wed. night, the Donkeys, cough) as my reputation as a music journalist is of utmost importance to me and without these standards, which thankfully you and other tabloid trainspotters help up maintain, the fibre of everything we know and love (cough, the Besnard Lakes too, cough) about that pillar of civilization we call “music journalism” would surely be ripped to shreds. What would we do? Where would we go? I shiver at the mere thought. So I hope you will continue to read this column every week knowing (cough, it starts after midnight at Academy Club, with DJs too, cough) that I will never be lenient with the journalistic integrity that you have grown accustomed too. Read with full confidence that my work will be completely cleansed of any taint of self-interest or self-promotion of any kind—or my name ain’t Johnson “Journalistic Integrity” Cummins (cough, did I mention it starts late? cough)!

I GOTTA SEE A DOCTOR ABOUT THIS COUGH! JONATHAN. jonathan.cummins@gmail.com

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