I stand hungover in the hot, bright, lunchroom-esque venue at L’Ordre Loyal des Mooses, bracing myself for a 1920s-style country band. Half of the crowd sits on the dusty floor at the front, further amplifying the bizarre sensation of being at a talent show. Hezekiah Procter and his ragtag team of suspender-sporting, doohickey-toting gentlemen take the stage.
They’re in period costume. A man is playing a sousaphone. The violin player asks the front five rows to stand and dance. No one does. What follows is a strange and dreamlike experience, as though I had drank so much that I traveled through time. I am in the small, remote mining town of Rouyn Noranda, circa 1926, in a well-lit room full of working folk. Hezekiah, the traveling medicine company singer, has come to play songs about unions, fearing God, and the many amazing things you can buy in the Sears-Robuck Catalogue.
Hezekiah and his merry men are hilarious, approaching this theatre/history/band project with both levity and genuine respect for the source material. Every member gets their own song to sing, and the instruments are constantly being switched out for even more niche 20th-century equipment. There are foot-stompers, barn-burners, sponsored endorsement sections, murder ballads, and a stunning acapella number.
I later found out there was a funeral reception happening in the basement during this show, which for some reason doesn’t surprise me. An absolutely rapturous performance spit-shined to perfection—and a surprisingly good hangover cure.
photos by Stephan Boissonneault @a_1993_Santiago
