Sugar shockers

The sticky situations that Montreal’s freakiest band, Duchess Says, get themselves into

You don’t get voted Montreal’s Freakiest Local Act in the Mirror’s BOM poll three years running without amassing a few weird tales from the road. So with Duchess Says about to end their exile with a few secret shows this June (their second album, In A Fung Day T, drops this September), now seemed an ideal time to reflect on the on- and off-stage antics that have made the electro-punks a hit with fans and a nightmare for venue operators.

“Our Facebook picture was taken from a backstage we destroyed at a venue in the Netherlands,” says drummer Simon “Simon Says” Besre. “We spilled water and sugar everywhere. We were banned from the place, but I don’t remember the city it was in.”

Spilled confectionary is pretty low on their list of offences, as any monitor or keyboard within striking distance of demonically possessed frontwoman and frequent stage-diver Annie-Claude Deschênes is likely to become a casualty. At a showcase at South By Southwest, Deschênes grabbed a jar of cocktail cherries from the bar and doused her bandmates, the stage and their gear in sticky brine, causing significant monetary damage.

“When she’s feeling the music, I think even she’s not sure what she’ll do next. It’s been a build-up—people expect Annie-Claude to do something different every time and I think she expects it as well.”

But Besre points out the increasingly diverse crowds—“metal fans love moshing to us,” he says—have become just as unpredictable. “We played the first M on the Quays. My mom was working at the Old Port at the time and was worried because there was no fence between the crowd and the stage. Eventually they installed one and by the end of our set, Annie-Claude was pulling on the fence, trying to remove it with the help of the crowd. The security guys jumped in and went crazy, getting into it with fans. My mom’s boss told her we’ll never play the Old Port again.”

Because of their intensity on stage, on two occasions they’ve cut sets short because of internal squabbling, but the positive moments far outnumber the quarrels, including a pair of memorable gigs playing beachside in Bristol, England. “The first year, we showed up late because of traffic and by the time we got there, the only people left were waiting for their salsa class. We disagreed on how to play—half of the band joked around and improvised, while the other half tried to convert the few people there by playing as hard as possible.

“The second year, though, there was no stage and we played twice as fast as usual. It was a 30-minute set without a moment of silence. By the end we were covered in sweat.” ■

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