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An Ordinary Night in Montreal

Posted by Christy / November 28, 2006

10122.jpgLast night, I almost went to a very typical indie rock show. Montréalais gathered to observe the vanity project of a local, white, female musician of questionable talents. Her music was devoid of originality or inspiration, and appeared largely a vehicle for acquiring a few moments of attention, social desirability, and maybe a little free booze. The viewers had no particular interest in her stylings, but they knew who she was, and that she was an attractive piece of ass. More importantly, they knew that it was the music people of their age listen to and that it was playing at a venue where people of their social group must gather in order to see and be seen.

There were many curtain calls, for no apparent reason. But this is Montreal, after all.

Last night, I almost went to a very typical indie rock show. Except the musician was 58 years old, the music was jazz, and the audience members were your grandparents.

I attended a charity concert featuring Dorothée Berryman of Le déclin de l'empire américain fame. For the price of an iPod Mini, spectators were treated to the sight of the well-preserved actress in a plunging neckline, "fuck me" red lipstick, and a transparent skirt, casting coy glances around the room as she sang insipid jazz standards. The finale of the evening was the presentation of a large cardboard check, and very necessary free drinks.

You could be appalled but, let's be honest with ourselves, on a fundamental level, the whole scene wasn't all that different from half the indie rock shows in Montreal every single week. Except, of course, the spectators' money, (not, incidentally, my money), went to fund a conscientious little non-profit, and indie rock still hasn't gotten up the motivation to file for charity status. Come to think of it, maybe it should.

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