The Automatik

Starvin’ Hungry/The Leather Uppers/Tricky Woo
The Horseshoe Tavern
October 28, 2005

Going into downtown Toronto on the Friday before Halloween in full costume requires a certain amount of bravado. Yet, despite fears of being openly mocked, wearing a costume downtown on the Friday before Halloween gives you a sense of power, a sense that it is possible to do whatever you want because you’re walking around in downtown Toronto in full costume. It was with this mindset that we ventured out to hang out with friends and see Tricky Woo.

Shaun’s unbelievably authentic and amazing Scorpion (from Mortal Kombat) costume got loads of attention – I lost count of the number of people who shouted, “GET OVER HERE!” at him as we walked around. One woman even rolled down her window and screamed, “FINISH HIM!” from the rear of a passing car. Our friends were also duly impressed with both of our costumes; so we were feeling pretty proud of ourselves when we left them at a party and wandered down for Tricky Woo’s set, which was slated for midnight.

Almost immediately, things took a turn. A smart aleck at the door smirked, “Halloween’s not for a few days – but that’s cool,” in a tone of voice that showed he didn’t think it was cool at all. A couple that was leaving also took note. “It’s not Halloween yet!” the woman laughed as her male companion barked, “She just left!” which I guess was his lame-ass way of making fun of Shaun.

The lack of recognition inside was deafening in its silence. You would have thought we were the new kids at school trying to sit with the jocks and the cheerleaders at the popular cafeteria table. “This is ridiculous,” I told Shaun. “It’s Halloween weekend. These people would be eaten alive if they were in New Orleans.” Granted, there were a few people who gave us props, including one guy who shook his head and insisted that I won the costume contest, “fucking hands down.”

The situation only got worse as the second opening act started. They were called The Leather Uppers, a name that was strangely familiar, though I still don’t know why. To say they were utterly atrocious would be an understatement. The band consisted of a guitarist and a drummer (who switched instrument duties halfway through their set). They both had on tight black t-shirts, white neck scarves, white tuxedo pants and white vinyl dress shoes. The singer’s mugging was so embarrassing that he made Sloan’s Chris Murphy look restrained and debonair. When I noticed his wedding band, I told Shaun, “Oh my god, someone’s MARRIED to this guy.” Shaun laughed, “Maybe it’s the drummer.” “NO!” I shouted back. “They’re brothers.” At that point I think I would have rather seen the real White Stripes than this pathetic display, which I hoped was supposed to be a joke.

I know I can approach Oscar Wilde levels of viciousness with my insults, but these two were unreal. I tried to think of ways to describe their awfulness. “I feel like the life is draining from my body. I feel like I’m watching Manos, The Hands of Fate: The Musical.” Then Shaun: “No. I feel like I’m witnessing the death rattle of my only child.”

To make it worse, the hipsters (and believe me, they were the least hip people I’ve ever seen in my life) were into it. “This band is great!” the woman in front of me told her friend, who nodded in agreement. “I like the way they switch,” said the woman next to Shaun. If this is what Toronto music fans think qualifies as good, then I truly fear for the future of music. I will never ever feel guilty for ripping a band to shreds again because it’s obvious that most people simply have no taste, no ears, and no minds of their own.

After what seemed like three hours, The Leather Uppers left and I went to the washroom, where I had to hear yet another couple of women proclaiming their love for those losers. I couldn’t even get out of the hallway because the band was having a photo shoot with their gushing “fans” in tow. Good grief.

As horrific of an experience as this was, it melted away in the face of the phenomenal and mighty Tricky Woo. Immediately, the mood changed. Let me state this unequivocally: Tricky Woo bring the rock. I’ve seen so many bands whose shows I’ve enjoyed but I can only think of a few who have brought tears to my eyes. At several points during the show, I couldn’t even applaud; I could only stand there in astonishment.

There’s something incredible about this band that only barely comes through on their albums. Their power and energy reminds me a lot of Redd Kross, only without (and this is in no way an insult) the smart-ass posturing. It’s like the purity of what a Stooges show must have sounded like before the Sex Pistols came along, or what Led Zeppelin was before “Stairway to Heaven” changed everything. They are in a word, relentless. No banter, no hesitancy, no trying to figure out what to play. Just wham bam, thank you ma’am. They didn’t even have a set list posted to the stage.

Singer Andrew Dickson looks, acts, sings, and plays like he stepped out of a time machine. And you know that he’s not putting on an act. His half-whispered murmurings of “baby,” both sung and spoken, as he looks like he’s becoming one with his guitar are like nothing I have ever seen or heard. Lead guitarist Adrian Popovich appears to be fresh out of high school but plays like he’s Jimmy Page. His rock god acrobatics in no way interfered with his miraculous (yes, I said miraculous) shredding. The dynamic between Popovich and Dickson is truly special; there is a palpable connection and intimacy. So many bands take the stage like strangers and play without so much as looking at each other, and the nearly hostile boredom makes you wonder why they even bother. But not this band.

Drummer Pat Sayers may be slight of frame, but his immense drumsticks belie that he plays harder, louder, faster, and better than anyone. There was a drum solo, an actual drum solo, and by the end the sweat was pouring off him in buckets. Not to take anything away from bassist Alex Crowe, because he’s damn good, but with these other three superstars, who could blame him for not fighting for center stage?

They announced their last song and it literally felt like they’d only been playing for five minutes. Of course, there was a blistering, beautiful encore. As sad I was to see them go, I couldn’t imagine they could sustain such a frenetic pace for much longer. It wasn’t the speed of a punk or metal band, although their rhythm and timing are superlative. It’s the sound of a band who’s got the rock in them, and it gots ta come out.