Lemongrab, The now berlin-based punks bore into my head with intense driving bass lines and raw vocal performances from Léonie Dishaw and Gaëlle Cordeau. Their visceral sound resonates with the violent come up of an acid trip. The intense stage presence frenzies the crowd who demands more. Léonie descends into the churning ocean of bodies to scream in our faces. Their euro-punk aesthetic blended with the old pub of Cabaret de la Dernière Chance, transporting us to somewhere else entirely, a strange land known as Lemongrab. They are a wave of freezing saltwater smashing you in the face; coming up for air only to get kicked in the teeth. As I looked around the room, we all shared that same bloody smile. Lemongrab is not to be missed.

BY Jacob Zweig

Like a recalled doll come back from the factory to haunt you, SLASH NEED transports us from a sweaty Rouyn Noranda basement and into some kinky warehouse in Berlin. Vocal powerhouse Dusty Lee is veiled behind a mesh screen held up by their dancers. Lee’s silhouette is equal parts menacing and enticing as they emit guttural growls and hair-raising high notes. They push against the screen, their body warping and contorting as Alex Low’s throat-rattling production crawls down our spines. 

Fog fills the room, and we catch only glimpses of Lee as they scream out like some kind of wounded animal. Desperately chewing and spitting each word like an exhibitionist bloodletting ceremony. It’s a nightmare, an assault on our senses that pushes us to our knees and holds our throats open with latex fingers to see what we’re made of.

SLASH NEED is a sensation. Yearning, angry, yet sensitive at times, it’s not for the faint of heart. It’s catharsis, rage, and release.

Last night, a monolithic event happened, one that will be reported for generations to come in the fair town of Rouyn-Noranda—the PyPy set at Cabaret de la Dernière Chance—a wall of psychedelic post-no-wave jazz, everything and nothing, a black hole of constant sonic bliss. Led by Annie-Claude Deschenes (Duchess Says), a pure sorceress of beauty and sheer terror, PyPy was recruiting followers for their cult of hypnotic stardom. Roy Vucino—easily one of the most skilled players in North America (CPC Gangbangs, Les Sexareenos, Red Mass)—absolutely beating the hell out of his body and guitar, and a puddle of sweat is left on the cutting room stage. Annie-Claude Deschenes could instill a riot if she wanted, when she’s on the mic there is nothing else you can think or wish; your brain is literarily twisted into a pile in sinew and you love it.

One moment, a deluge of the Cabaret de la Dernière Chance staff picked up a village of White Claw umbrellas—all under the PyPy spell—and marched through the venue. Not to mention when Deschenes ordered a gin and tonic and got one fan to shoulder ride her to the back and front of the stage. Words can’t describe the whole picture, much like a Matisse painting in the pouring, dark, rain. A new album to follow up 2014’s PAGAN DAY is coming—like an eclipse in time as if an unruly god has decided the world neeeeeds more PyPy, and we do, we do. Anyone lucky enough to be at that packed show is now a full-fledged member of the PyPy cult.

Montreal weirdos Shunk might be a rock band from the future. With a peculiar blend of soft ‘70s aesthetics and jagged, synth-punk inspired instrumentation, this 4-piece completely took over Cabaret de la Dernière Chance for their set at FME. Vocalist Gabrielle offers breakneck vocal sections that skim over the throaty, impending guitar. All the while, Julia on bass is keeping it locked down with impossibly intricate low end, screaming every word.

Shunk is pure entropy, a group of 4 honed musicians that could each easily lead the band. If you close your eyes, you can imagine the instruments shapeshifting and transforming, morphing into strange new forms to fit the next musical hairpin turn. Swinging from operatic love songs all the way to borderline hardcore moments, they keep you guessing at every moment, pulling you deeper and deeper into the eclectic but seamless collection of Shunk.

After a whirlwind of music on Friday, and late-night conversations about anything and everything, I needed a reprieve, something to ease me into another gauntlet. A bit melancholic, dreamy, and hazy, Grand Eugene was the perfect start to Saturday at FME. Under the wooden structure of La Guinguette Chez Edmund, with a backdrop of the Osisko Lake, Grand Eugene’s sound; Drugdealer mixed with old Andy Shauf and hint disco drab ala Gab Bouchard was exactly what we all needed.

As the sun peaked out of the clouds to say “hi,” we were welcomed to a vacation from ourselves, a vocational summer, the bass—my god the bass, the tones, the wash of synthy majesty, just pure delight. Their new album is aptly named, Les vacances d’​é​té, be sure to take off the time from the daily grind and check it out.