Halloween; a time for candy, a time for cheer, and a time for families. None of these things interested me (I love my Momma don’t even try and say otherwise). So, here’s what Halloween was for me this time around. A time for booze, a time for more booze, and a time FOR THE MUTHUH FUCKIN’ CANCER BAAAAAAAAAAATS! The venue was Bar Le Ritz PDB, here in Montreal, QC. The time was Halloween (quite obviously if you haven’t been following, idiot). And the Reason was my liver, and ears, had a date with destiny.
The soiree opened up with a few familiar faces, Fashion Police. About a month ago, I got off my lazy ass, and had the pleasure of writing a review of their EP, Winter. If you haven’t read it, you’re an asshole. If you have read it, and haven’t listened to it yet, then you’re an even bigger asshole. My point is their live performance far from disappoints as it was packed with that same, thick, post-hardcore love. The one difference between their live performance, and their recording is the overwhelming need to smash shit when “Coach vs Gramps” hits the floor. This was a contrast to my initial reaction of prematurely ejaculating in public. These fe-manly fucks have devouring bills around Montreal for the next months, so, do yourself a favour, cut the procrastination, and get yourself addicted to them early.
Keeping the sleaze good and pristine were yet another Montreal-local love of ours here at Bucketlist, Dirt Cannon. Groovy, heavy, and fuckin’ filthy, and still throwing in some wet-panty choruses. Some may say they are cookie-cutter, Southern Hardcore, and to those I say SO FUCKING WHAT. No, these cats did not reinvent the wheel, but they sure as hell spun the shit outta’ that bitch. They kept it simple, and it never made me wanna bounce my fuckin’ genitals off so hard in my life. Apparently, I was alone on this one. Nonetheless, crowd participation or not, their set was still as entertaining as Dirt Cannon always is.
Rounding out the fire-starters was Indianapolis, IN’s Metalcore, Chug-Fiends, Forevermore. As openly admitted by the band themselves, this was an act that stuck out like a fuckin’ sore thumb. Let me put it to you this way: Bucketlist top Momma, Liz Imperiale, had decided to join us for this evenings festivities and she had quite the brilliant idea because of this band. Every time they hit into a breakdown, we drink. Drinking very quickly, and very violently became ‘chugging’ (Eh, eh, see what I did there? Yeah, you did). Now, don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing I love more than a good chug-off, that being said, what the fuck, dude? Nonetheless, these guys were ultimately very humble, and very much put on a tight set. This just goes to show you that the mood of an evening can very much determine the reaction you have to any given band. Bullshit aside, do check them out, just uhh, don’t play that drinking game… shit got weird after that. (Unless, you like weird, then by all means.)
Finally, the hour was upon us. The good Lord once said, “LET THERE BE ONESIES!” And so there was Toronto, ON’s, Mother Fucking Cancer Bats. This was my twenty-some-odd time seeing a Cancer Bats show (no, I’m not exaggerating), and, of course, after that brilliant game of ‘fuck-my-liver-for-a-Brutal-ass-metalcore-band,’ I can only describe to you the kind of rager I was prepared for. To my teary eyes, the old familiar friends of mine did not disappoint. Cancer Bats are, without question, one of Canada’s most beloved Hardcore Exports, to which the 4-piece swings a style ranging from dirty Suicidal Tendencies fuckery, to sludgy doom fucks a la Black Sabbath. It’s with this gorgeous spectrum of slaughter; these cats have coined their corner in the magical land of ‘hardcore.’ Every song, show, record, doesn’t matter what is a banger to end all bangers, and that night was no different. The intimacy of it just made it that much gnarlier. That, and seeing singer, Liam Cormier, bounce around in a unicorn onesie just tied a bow around the big ol’ banging master piece. And I fucking HATE onesies. How do you even take a shit in one of those things. C’mon.
Written by Jason Greenberg
Photography by Isa Hoyos Ishca Photography
*edited by Danielle Kenedy