Mega Deaf Tour – Live at Le Ritz P.D.B. – November 15th, 2015 – Montreal, QC

Mega Deaf Tour - November 15th, 2014 - Montreal, Quebec

Southern hardcore is a sub genre of the metal and hardcore fusion phenomenon that uses hints of country and bluegrass style tones, song structures, and chord progressions. The genre is perhaps better known as, “I love booze, I’m fucked up, and I’m going to write a song that will make you think of the dirtiest parts of the movie Deliverance while being heavy as all balls.” As obscure as it might seem, some of the world’s biggest metal acts hail from southern-style roots, such as Guitar Hero favourites like Lamb of God, Every Time I Die, and even the legendary Pantera. By the way, I hate that fucking game. I just know a lot of you dipshits don’t know what I’m talking about and I needed a point of reference. That being said, we’re not here to talk about any of those bands, or even my hate for shitty video games that make you believe you’re actually a musician. No, no, no, my friends and avid readers. We’re here to talk about the Mega Deaf tour and its unsuspectingly wicked stop at the new and improved Il Motore, now oddly named Le Ritz P.D.B., located on Jean-Talon Ouest, of Montreal, Quebec. November 15th is never a day I forget. This one won’t be any different.

In the Name of Havoc

Starting off the night, like most nights, is me sucking at adhering to a schedule, which resulted in me missing my very close and beloved friends of In the Name of Havoc. In my defense, Momma’s birthday comes first, so fuck you and don’t judge me. With that in mind, an ITNH performance is not something to which I am a stranger, and if you did not catch their set, I can tell you that you’ve missed out.

Hey Sugar

Pretty much the same could be said for following local twang-slayers, Hey Sugar. The beautiful thing about walking into a predominantely southern hardcore show is that the stench of party is always in the air, and the sound of gorgeous and full party anthems tend to meet your ears right away. Impeccable is the adjective I’d use to describe Hey Sugar’s set, but alas, the best was yet to come.

Dirt Cannon

Every so often, a gem sits in the middle of the fray, a diamond in the drunken rough if you will. In that same vein, every so often a band comes out swinging like Mike Tyson smelling fresh baby meat (please, nobody tell him I said that). This was the case for the South Shore sailors in Dirt Cannon. Many a Dirt Cannon set I’ve seen and I’ve even had the pleasure of sharing a stage with the band a few times. This one however, seemed special, immaculate if you will. Obviously nothing is perfect and maybe I was more drunk than I thought but nonetheless, there was not a jaw that wasn’t on the floor nor a head banging trying to pick it back up. Honorable mentions go to the fact that somehow this long-standing venue and its shiny but hardly intentional, effective renovations have somehow managed to tap into the best sound this city has seen in a long time.


Wrapping up our hometown hooha was West Island warriors and repeated Bucketlist offenders, Kennedy. Now, considering I’ve already reviewed these cats, quite literally at the same venue, theres not a lot of room for change, so I’ll keep it brief. As usual, Kennedy made heads spin. The only problem is that it just felt like the ol’ same old. Nonetheless, it was still sick, so whatever.


He is Legend

He is Legend, hailing from Wilmington, North Carolina, is actually somewhat of a major throwback to the early 2000s. Some would say that’s not too long ago right? Others like myself would say, fuck you, that’s a decade and a half ago. Time aside, any revival act or throwback band can go one of two ways; they either pump their new record with disdain for any older craftings, or play into the crowd and rip the old shit like they just wrote it a minute ago. Unfortunately, this particular long time comback went the latter route. Phenomenal performance, full and robust sound, and beautifully diverse vocals were produced by the band, so no marks taken for the fact that they most definitely kicked ass. I am still pissed that we barely got an “I Am Hollywood”, as was the rest of the crowd, but, hey, maybe next time…right? Hopefully we won’t have such a long wait again…

Maylene and the Sons of Disaster

Inebriation has set in deeeeeeeeeeeep by this point, just in time for Maylene and the Sons of Disaster, climbing from the deep south of Birmingham, Alabama, to take the stage. Have you ever walked into a wall when you’re hammered? Sure you have. Have you ever been verbally punched in the face by said wall? Don’t actually answer that, no one is listening. This was far from my first Maylene performance, thus I can confidently say that time has actually been very good to this band. Admittedly, past performances left me very disenchanted with the band, but God apparenty be good this time around, especially with regards to singer and founding member, Dallas Taylor. Crisp, on point, and most surprisingly, not slacking off. These are all defining qualities seen in this glorious sub genre of an already demanding style of music. All complicated crap aside, believe you me, when “Dry the River” began to creep in, the room shook, or at least it felt like it. Most importantly, what’s a good show without somekind of colorful injury to my already displeasing face.

I hope you’ve had a laugh, and if you were there, I hope you had as killer of a time as I did. I’m still not going to AA, though.

Written by Jason Greenberg
Photography by Shannon Fong  SLF Photography
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About Jason Greenberg 175 Articles
On the first day, the Lord said "Let there be Bucketlist," and all of human kind then became aware of the incredulity or abysmally flaccid result on their attempt at Art. On the second day, the Lord said "Jason, go review that show you're going to on Friday," and begrudgingly, a review was made. What the world was for Jason Greenberg before that point is either completely unimportant or mildly pornographic, but the world of today after many years of serving his Queen has brought him opportunity, hardship, and a whole lot of Bucketlist patches on indiscriminate pieces of clothing. You may see him lugging your band's equipment and yelling at you aimlessly about the useless construct of time. You may see him expelling a noise not fully understood by humankind at the end of a microphone. You may even see him swimming in an ocean of poutine, but you will always see him as his true self, a sentient and obnoxious Bucketlist Music Reviews Billboard.

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