The Automatik

The Joel Plaskett Emergency
Harbourfront Centre
August 20, 2005

There was a time, say before 1984, when you could see a band perform in a crowded venue and the most you had to worry about was the lingering smell of pot smoke or spilled beer. Those halcyon days are gone – and mosh pits aren’t for the floor section of a Metallica show anymore. If crowd surfers could infiltrate a Celine Dion concert they would – but I won’t be gathering empirical evidence to support that hypothesis anytime in the next century.

What I’m trying to say is: I basically hate seeing bands play live these days.

The formerly joyous occasion of basking in the glow of your favorite performers’ awe-inspiring talent has been usurped by several hours’ worth of cowering in fear of getting kicked in the face. Which is why this past Saturday’s Joel Plaskett Emergency show was so refreshing. Especially since free shows with adjoining beer tents draw in the morons like waving a confederate flag does in rural Mississippi.

Maybe it was the lovely cool breeze or the fact that everyone in the GTA was so relieved they didn’t live in Fergus, but the good vibes were fairly all consuming. Unlike shows by some other East Coast bands I could mention (okay, fine – Sloan) there is a distinct lack of aggression at a Joel Plaskett/Emergency show despite the fact that the band can certainly kick the musical asses of their peers, a fact made even more astounding when you consider Mr. Plaskett isn’t even 30.

Although Gordie Sampson’s prior set was enjoyable (love that “War Pigs” cover), the seats were filled by smiling and laughing fans, talking softly and tapping their feet. But I defy anyone to sit still during a Joel Plaskett Emergency set. Come on: we’ve got Dave Marsh – so snappy on the drums; Ian McGettigan making the bass-playing look effortless; and of course, Mr. P. himself, ambling onstage with a fresh short haircut, looking more like vintage Roddy Frame than anyone has a right to.

It was nice to see and hear the Emergency again, even if Ian seemed to be phoning it in during the early songs. It could’ve been the stretch of more mellow tunes, a few of which were from the latest solo offering from Joel. Or it could’ve been the giant hole in the crotch of his jeans. But things escalated to heights of rockingness rarely sustained by pretty much anyone else these days. Joel was channelling some sort of guitar god spirit, flailing about with his signature toe tapping and hand waggling – even throwing in what looked like a damn good Mashed Potato on several occasions.

Joel kept us all enthralled with his storytelling and song lyrics tailored ever-so-slightly for the occasion and Led Zeppelin references (like he does). I know I was grinning so much my face hurt (like I do) and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one.

The thing about Joel Plaskett is that he’s just unbelievably talented. He’s not trying to be the next hot young thing or hip new singer-songwriter, but he’s both hip and hot, without much effort or self-consciousness – although there’s a whiff of the precocious which just proves that he’s got us all right where he wants us. He’s got a style, but he doesn’t have an image, which is fairly mind-blowing if you stop to think about it. He’s not trying to be cleverer than thou, but he sure has a way with words (and guitar riffs).

But it’s not just that – he makes us feel like we’re learning and laughing along with him. If only there were more like him, to remind us that the worst thing you can be isn’t just the next hot thing or the hip new songwriter – it’s being the bitter burn-out who’s only in it because they don’t know what else to do. Because that’s dishonest; that’s not what rock and roll is all about. And that’s certainly not what compels me to listen to and love music.

I don’t think that the moshers get that, though I don’t think there’s anything groundbreaking about such a statement. But I do think that in their case, youth is squandered on the young and clueless who are bringing the rest of us down, only being in the crowd because they don’t know what else to do. “The only thing worse than growing up,” sings Joel, “is never quite learning how.”