Music

FESTIVAL WRAP-UP: Quebec's D-Tox Rockfest brought big names on a smaller scale

by Tyler Munro

More often than not festivals succeed in spite of themselves; in spite of the dust, mile-long lines for the portable pissers and in spite of scattershot set times. Festivals are as much about the music as they are the experience, and nine times out of ten, the experience fucking sucks.

D-Tox Rockfest in Montebello, Quebec was kind of the anti-festival’s festival. It wasn’t without its filth, but most of that came with the crowd, a dingy herd of 20-something punks, skids and metalheads from the province’s crusty crevices.

While most festivals take hostage of oft-unused hangars or dried out, abandoned-but-sponsored grass lots, Rockfest situated itself somewhere between right and centre field (it took place on a baseball field). That in and of itself says a lot about its size, a reflection of its small town host and not its big name line-up.

Discounting the crowds that flocked en masse to see the likes of Descendends, Lamb of God, NOFX and…uh…Alcoholica (more on that later), Rockfest felt, by and large, like a collection of bar gigs that just happened to take place outdoors in a quaint Quebécois town. Replace the traditional concert stench of dude sweat with a never ending parade of mayflies and you’ve got a pretty good idea of just how big Rockfest was. Or wasn’t.

As an aside, mayflies are sometimes colloquially referred to as “Canadian soldiers,” an insult if I’ve ever seen one. From my observations these mayflies were as big as they were harmless—they were the size of my thumb—and spent much of their time flying into, and then dying on, the on stage talent. Milo Aukerman (Descendents) seemed unaware of the army of dead bugs on his back and head during Descendents’ set, most likely because he and his were busy ripping through 25 songs in just over 50 minutes, but NoFX’s Fat Mike, already at his peak of obnoxiousness, seemed more than a pinch irritated by the kamikaze insects. One of them flew into my chest, died, and then fell down my shirt during Hatebreed. It was, for lack of a better word, yucky.

This was mere minutes before Joey Cape got pretty ticked

Rockfest was a uniquely intimate festival experience. Of its three stages, only the third, admittedly less important one (sorry, A Wilhelm Scream) caused any interruptions and it only really happened once when a sound checking deathcore band on the third stage bled into Joey Cape’s acoustic set.

After his set, one which consisted of hits new and old, of Lagwagon classics and Cape originals, he caught up with me to say “I never thought I’d be playing an acoustic set after that.”

In fairness, I didn’t either.

Cape played after local(ish) death metal heroes The Agonist, whose tightly wound melodic death metal translated into a decent soundtrack for the increasingly sweltering heat. It wasn’t the Agonist that pissed Cape off, at least not directly, (“distorted guitars and the same 2 notes I’ve heard for 25 years from those kinds of metal bands,” as he described their genre), but rather the unnamed (they have one, I just don’t know it) rock contest winner that started sound checking towards the end of his set.

If Cape’s expression could’ve talked, it would probably have said “this is bullshit,” and, in fairness, it kind of was. Had Cape been with Lagwagon—and boy that would have been sweet—it wouldn’t have mattered, but he was up there just him and his guitar when an onslaught of double kicks and half-time chugs briefly overthrew his songs. That was the low-point of Cape’s set. “Montreal,”  which was accompanied by two French speaking members of the crowd was the high point.

Oh, and he told me I was handsome. So that totally happened (it was weird).

What’s important to take from this isn’t that Joey Cape is a good performer (he is), or that having your barebones acoustic set interrupted by an extreme metal band sucks (it does) or even that I’m really, really handsome (I am).

It’s that Rockfest was a festival of contrasts. Contrasts that went beyond the diversity of its line-up, beyond death metal bands sharing the stage with punk bands or Hatebreed leading into Underoath. Rockfest was a festival of contrasted expectations: that these bands could survive in the same environment, with their fanbases overlapping instead of bitching; that NoFX could follow Underoath without Fat Mike ridiculing their religion. Most of all, that a festival started years ago by a teenager could survive this long, come this far and get so many big name bands to come to such a small town.

Wrapping up Rockfest is more than just talking about which bands surprised and which disappointed, it’s about why they did. Hatebreed certainly didn’t wow me because of their music, but Jayme Jasta’s stage presence, his scissor kicks, fist pumps, cargo shorts and command over the audience were enough to win me over. Rockfest is about how the Bouncing Souls botched one of their most iconic songs (Hopeless Romantic, which they played both too fast and too slow), not that they did. It’s about how a band like the Brains can wear zombie contacts at noon and still manage to entrance an audience of hungover psychobilly enthusiasts.

It was almost surreal seeing a gaggle of bored, disinterested Lamb of God fans up front, some yawning, during Descendents’ set while Randy Blythe stood side stage, shouting and cheering along as Milo read his list of commandments during “All-O-Gistics”. Blythe was overheard by a fellow journalist saying that he didn’t care when his flight left the next day as long he got the chance to meet and see Descendents. As you’ve just read, he saw the Descendents, and I’m told he met with Milo earlier that day.

Lamb of God, be it Randy or their management (I’m betting a bit of both), refused to do interviews. That’s unfortunate, since their headlining set at Rockfest will likely end up their lone 2011 gig. It’s unfortunate because, in spite of its near excruciating length, Lamb of God’s set was a highlight of the festival.

Randy Blythe was obviously too busy for an interview

Maybe Randy was just too busy to talk to us journalists. He certainly looked it. He looked busy smoking on the front steps of the hotel. He looked busy smoking by the pool, and he certainly looked busy smoking while jumping on a nearby trampoline. Busy, busy, but it still would have been nice to talk to him. He could have smoked then, too.

I did catch up with Bill Stevenson, the notorious farting drummer behind Descendents and Black Flag. He told me that his work behind the kit had become almost metronomic thanks to his time put in as a producer. He wasn’t lying. As engaging as the entire band was, from Milo’s escapades into the barrier to his struggles getting back on stage, it was Stevenson’s ultra tight work behind the kit that held it all together. His only flub came minutes into their set when he tried to flip and catch his drumstick. He missed. He probably hoped nobody saw. I did. Sorry, Bill.

Speaking of expectations—I think I mentioned them somewhere, oh, about 800 words ago—I don’t think I’d ever expected to be at a festival where Cryptopsy, once considered Quebécois royalty, would play on the second stage in broad daylight with Cancer Bats to follow on the main stage. Of course it makes sense: Cryptopsy may have put out one of the most important death metal albums ever (None So Vile), but 1994 was a long time ago and The Unspoken King was unspeakably awful. Still, it says a lot. Kataklysm never reached the same plateaus as Cryptopsy, but they’ve rested at the same level of mediocrity since they formed, and maybe that’s why they landed themselves a late night set on Day 1. Plus Kataklysm totally ripped it up. Who knew?

I doubt CJ Ramone got this shirt at Hot Topic

CJ Ramone defied expectations. Obviously his set consisted of Ramones songs (and Motörhead’s “R.A.M.O.N.E.S”), but he opened with the obvious finale (“Blitzkrieg Bop”) and closed with what would’ve been the perfect opener (“Do You Wanna Dance”).  Ramone’s set was all about having fun, and nobody was having more of it than CJ. He jumped and lunged around the stage, counting in and stopping only to introduce Dannie Ray, a frequent Ramones producer and collaborator, on guitar. The crowd loved every minute of it, skanking in the circle pit, shouting along at the top of their lungs and, in the case of one free-spirited fan, stripping naked for no apparent reason. Ramone’s set was also the first time I caught sight the wheelchair bound crowd-surfer, though I’m told he made his ‘debut’ during Lamb of God the night before. This guy was everywhere, and though he inevitably ended up upside down each time he went up, his perseverance is worth admiring. Even Fat Mike, who jokingly derided the guy for being “lazy,” gave him his kudos.

“Let me guess, they had to lift you up?” – Fat Mike

In case you haven’t heard, Fat Mike is kind of obnoxious.

“My fun is more fun than their fun,” Fat Mike told me earlier that day. That’s the truth.

Much of NoFX’s set was fun at the expense of others. When he wasn’t joking about the cripple crowd surfing in a wheelchair, he was making fun of Pennywise. It started innocently enough. After unveiling a second band banner (which was, hilariously, a smaller version of the first one), Mike jokingly asked “how many banners did Pennywise have?,” later adding “let me guess, they played Bro Hymm?”

Then it got just a little mean spirited. He then asked the crowd if they saw Pennywise the night before. “We’re much better than them,” he joked.

He asked the same question about Descendents. “Were not better than them,” he said. He was right, they weren’t better than Descendents, but they were definitely funnier, introducing “Eat the Meek” with a speech about turning yourself in if you had any drugs on you before adding that “if you gotta smoke weed, smoke to this.”

They ran through a set that consisted of  hits like “Bob,” “Linoleum,” “Stickin’ in my Eye,” and fan favourites like “Champs Elysées” and “Kill All The White Men.”

A few years ago NoFX made headlines for the transparent dislike of Underoath’s religious views, but aside from joking that El Hefe is “almost as good as Tim from Underoath,” Mike left the young six-piece largely untouched.

Equal parts nostalgic and funny, NoFX’s set would have been the perfect Rockfest finale. They weren’t. That honour went to Alcoholica, a French Canadian Metallica cover band who was, in spite of it all, pretty fucking awesome.

“It’s kind of a dream come true,” joked Fat Mike when asked how it felt to be “opening” for a Metallica cover band 28 years into his career.

Anyone else think he was being sarcastic?