The ghost of
christmas parties past

by JOHNSON CUMMINS

Like a glutton for punishment, I will be once again attending the annual Mirror staff Christmas party. I can’t say that they’re utterly horrendous but truth be told, they hardly hold a candle to some of the yuletide piss-ups of yore. Not so long ago, Mirror staff parties meant open bar all night, you could sneak in tons of lecherous people that didn’t actually work there and they served up as much debauchery as an R. Kelly post-show dressing room.

In fact, some particular Mirror Christmas parties still loom large in what’s left of my memory. Broken arms, fraudulent prize trips to tropical islands, drooling, lecherous comments launched at fellow co-workers, heated shouting matches over the dull pounding of ironic ’80s music, blatant drug use, idle threats screamed to no one in particular—and hell, that was just our editor Al South.

At one Christmas staff party, I got so drunk from steadily tipping pints for five hours that I capped off the night by buying a dozen eggs at 4 Frères and egged a house—all by my lonesome. That would be kind of cool, I guess, if not for the fact that I was a tender 33 years old at the time.

Since those salad days, Mirror Christmas parties have transformed into soirées of wandering around like automatons, muttering, “So what do you do?” every now and again while juggling a rectangle of dough with tomato sauce brushed on it as tepid electronica drones on in the background. It may seem like I’m biting the hand that serves up the tomato sauce-brushed bread here, but c’mon—a six-beer-ticket maximum? The terrorists have indeed won! If nobody is projectile vomiting into a wastepaper basket while co-workers are dry humping in a vestibule, this just ain’t no staff Christmas party. I think by rights there should be at least one person’s face taking on a hue of crimson red come Monday morning, but with only six beers, the worse that can happen is somebody spilling a little tomato sauce on a co-worker’s Christmas-themed tie.

If your staff party is looking about as exciting as chewing on tin foil, there are thankfully some great excuses to make a quick getaway. The big show on Friday is the return of Metallian at the Barfly. These bullet-belted bangers have gotten early thrash and classic galloping metal down to a science. To further tip the scales of heaviosity, the punk blues of Ashtray Heart and Speedhair are also on tap.

Saturday is again an easy choice, as one of Montreal’s finest, Bloodshot Bill, launches his full-length All Messed Up and his split seven-inch High and Dry at Hémisphère Gauche, with special guest Iz.

If you really want to get things started early this weekend, you are cordially invited to new Montreal hotspot la Brique (6545 Durocher #402), which hosts the two-day Cool Fest with over 31 bands over the weekend, including Ghettonuns, K.A.N.T.N.A.G.A.N.O, Panopticon Eyelids, Wax Attic, Ghost Limbs and others. Cool Fest starts at 2 p.m. Saturday and Sunday, but the more faint of heart you can check specific set times and complete list of bands at www.fluorescentfriends.org/.

DEATH TO FALSE METAL
Jonathan.cummins@gmail.com