To many, seeing "indie arts" and "Brampton" in the same sentence together will come across as strange. After all, how much appetite can there be for independent art in this thoroughly suburban strip-mall community? Clearly, there's a healthy demand though, as the Brampton Indie Arts Festival just wrapped its seventh year.
As it gets older, it also gets bigger. This year marked the festival's move to the brand spanking new Rose Theatre, a beautiful building boasting great acoustics. The musical acts for the festival were split evenly between the theatre, or main stage, and a smaller room off to the side that will henceforth be called the second stage.
The Festival also showcased a number of short films, visual art installations (including contributions by Devo founder Mark Mothersbaugh) and even a musical.
I kicked off Thursday with a trip to the main stage to catch The Meligrove Band, whose energetic stutter-stop pop was lively, even though their music didn't really mesh with the relaxed, sit-down atmosphere that the theatre provided. Granted, there's not much they could have done about it, although being a little more imaginative in choosing songs that complement the venue might have helped.
Leaving the Meligroves mid-set, I moved to the second stage to catch one of the most pleasant surprises of the festival, Grand Fir. Certainly, five modest-looking thirty-somethings from Orangeville, Ontario don't look the part of edgy musical innovators. But their carefully crafted alt.
country ditties featured strong songwriting and were perfectly performed. Grand Fir were great at paying attention to the little details, as harmonies intertwined with slide guitars with unhurried ease. By the end, a surprisingly large crowd showed their heartfelt appreciation for a well-played set.
Succeeding the twangy quintet was another kettle of fish entirely, Polmo Polpo. Sandro Perri, the man behind the group, is a respected Toronto producer and ambient musician who helped make one of my favourite albums of the last year, Glissandro 70's self-titled record. Situated behind an array of gadgets, knobs and wires, Perri brought his instruments to life, creating analogue ambient sounds that drifted elusively, never quite settling on a hook or a melody for too long.
It didn't look particularly impressive from the audience's vantage point, though, so I repositioned myself to Perri's right and peered over his shoulder. As he twiddled with his Moog, mixer and pitch shifter, I was able to watch his fluid constructions take shape, which made for a much more enjoyable viewing experience. Being neither much of a spectacle nor the most accessible music, however, I can't say I blame some of the Polmo Polpo virgins I spotted for their glazed eyes and crossed arms.
After that it was back to the main room for Final Fantasy, a.k.a.
Owen Pallett. I was already expecting quite a lot, as this theatre is an ideal setting to absorb Pallett's orchestral concoctions. But I wasn't prepared for the quirky multimedia show that was about to take place.
Pallett took the stage with a visual artist in tow, introduced to us only as "Steph," who put together the best overhead projector display I've ever seen. The visuals synched up with Pallett's fantastical lyricism, and were remarkable in both their intricacy and their dynamism. The artist layered slides on top of each other and moved them around, fashioning a sort of lo-fi animation.
Words don't really do it justice, but it was a lovely visual feast that remarkably didn't overshadow Pallett. In fact, the fantastical illustrations nicely complemented Final Fantasy's songs, which included a handful of new tracks and old favourites such as "The CN Tower Belongs To The Dead" and "This Lamb Sells Condos." These offerings were well received by a very supportive audience who enthusiastically shouted encouragement at a bemused Pallett.
As the set wound down to a satisfying climax, I realized that reverse commuter rules were in effect. I had to leave for Toronto post-haste, otherwise I'd be saddled with spending the night in Brampton. As a result, I ended up missing Tom Waits guitarist Marc Ribot's set, and instead empathetically reflected on the inconveniences suburbanites have to go through when they come to Toronto to watch shows.
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