On Thursday night at La Noce, we headed over to the Télé-Québec stage for Enfants Sauvages. Rox Arcand storms out and starts getting us all riled up against matricule 728. Dancers hit the stage, flipping off the sky as if the dismissed cop had ascended straight to hell. Then, completely out of the blue, some guy stops her dead in her tracks, asking her to hold on. There weren’t many protests despite the disappointment: while a few took it as a cue for a beer run, many just decided to call it a night. Silent, muggy lightning strikes ultimately forced the band to pack it up.
After what felt like thirty-odd minutes, and some guy from La Baie telling me all about his trip to Italy, things got rolling again. Catching Enfants Sauvages live is always a safe bet. It reminded me of seeing her at Casa Del Popolo with Cornette and les petits trous de balle a few years back. Some guy was talking a bit too loud. She stepped right off the stage, chased him out of the venue, screaming her songs right in his face. He was genuinely terrified. I was convinced she was going to spit on him. Rox Arcand gives off this vibe of being dangerous. It’s pretty charming—as long as you’re on her good side.
They only have time to blast through something like three songs, in fast-forward mode. The stunts keep coming: the lead singer calls for an all-girl mosh pit. A few guys who try to squeeze their way in get violently roughed up, shoved, and kicked by the girls, who seize the opportunity to let off some steam. « C’est sûr que c’est ben d’adon », as my friend Audrey from Jonquière would say. The crowd and the band seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement: they were going to make up for lost time.
There is so much going on, I don’t even know where to look. The two basses add serious depth to the noise of the distorted guitars. The air is completely saturated with sound. The vocals are piercing; you can feel Rox Arcand’s bitterness over having to let a few raindrops get in the way. She reaches her hand out to us in a gesture I mistook for a handshake. It was more of an anchor to launch herself forward, body-surfing into the sparse crowd, while the dancers make out passionately—and just like that, it’s over. Not many bands can pack a 45-minute show into a condensed 15.
Photo: Samuel Snow (@photographie_samuel_snow)
