Due to a moist and inclement barrage early in the evening and an ensuing wardrobe change, I arrived at le National rather late for the Junior Boys’ reportedly short set last Saturday night. I did, however, get to catch the last 20 minutes and, judging by the general enthusiasm and approval of the audience, combined with the sparse, more organic and rockish versions being jammed out by the synthpop unit, it must have been a damn good show throughout. Following that and a quick intoxicant stop in a park to sharpen the senses, off I flew to Usine C to catch French group Black Strobe at the Lucy & Elektra festival. The contrast between Junior Boys’ feelgood new wave with crooner vocals and the Detroit-techno-meets-’50s-horror-film-soundtrack of Black Strobe was pleasantly jarring. Add to that the transition from a comfortingly dingy theatre full of wholesome, grinning pop fans to the interior of a concrete cube lit by flickering images of harsh white lines, static and ominous, expressionless visages. The sparse audience consisted of motionless, mostly male techno geeks docilely absorbing the aggressive cross between live rockabilly and warehouse rave music. The evening of stark relief continued with a trip to burgeoning hot spot Panthère Noire, where NYC’s Larry Tee dished out dizzying drop cuts of all beats dumb, trashy and ironic for a throng of fashion-conscious dilettantes who jacked and wacked across the dance floor on spindly legs and expensive shoes. What a night, ladies and gentlemen.
Good looks and fine sounds can be found tonight courtesy of Pokerflat-signed Berliner electro duo Martini Bros, who appear at Parking. Friday night you can get your dose of butt-rock/electro crossover chaos from NYC’s BM Linx at Foufounes Électriques. Saturday, you can do it all night at the Pound for Sex Up My Brain, a Heads & Hands sex-ed-awareness benefit featuring a variety of young party DJs. Sunday’s the first Piknic Électronik at Parc Jean-Drapeau, featuring the jazzy breakbeats and cut ’n’ paste hip hop of Ninja Tune’s Mr. Scruff. And, finally, Peaches fucks up Club Soda Monday night.
SORE ANKLES, MAN…jack.oatmon@gmail.com
