Felix B. Desfossés has once again tapped into a main vein of Quebec's historical underbelly. After singlehandedly reissuing the "maple syrup porn" cult soundtrack Après Ski on vinyl in 2011 on his own Pluton Records label, Desfossés has now succeeded in connecting the dots between (yé yé group) Les Hou-Lops and Voivod with his most recent endeavour: a book — the first of a three-volume series, we're told — on the evolution of metal in the province of Quebec. 

With the help of a rotating cast of talking heads, Desfossés dusts off corners of La Belle Province's less travelled roads, starting from the crepuscular efforts of '60s garage punk groups such as Les Loups, Les Sultans, Les Sinners and Les Mésirables — arguably the first local outfit to make prominent use of a fuzz pedal. 

The book's initial intention appears to be to point out how the geopolitical and linguistic particularities of Quebec created a fertile and influential microcosm that reverberated both on a local and global level. Desfossés peruses the evolution of the genre via originators such as Offenbach, Frank Marino, Danger, Aut'Chose and the likes, until he reaches the early '80s… when the rubber (and yes, the leather) hits the road. 

Helped by Voivod's own Michel "Away" Langevin, who is also accountable for the cover art, Desfossés catalogues, reviews, contextualizes and interviews dozens of people from the various scenes. He speaks to pioneers such as D.D.T. and Sword, rockers like (YouTube sensation) Trop Féross's leader Ginette Provost and Offenbach's John McGale, punk rockers Unruled, 222s and Genetic Control, individuals involved with Banzaï Records, tape trader Wayne Archibald, fanzine contributors, club owners and other local performers like Nick Catalano — today's head honcho of the Montreal-based record store Beatnick. Moreover, Desfossés covers landmark events and tours like the No Speed Limit Weekend, World War III and the Banzaï Axe Festival. 

In order to provide the reader with an idea of the Zeitgeist, L'évolution du métal Québécois also revisits important locations and venues all over the province. The oral history of the genre is perhaps the most interesting element in the book once the reader gets past Desfossés' most comfortable and prolix moments — namely, his chapters on the '60s and '70s. 

The music geek will, nevertheless, excuse the author for letting one or two mistakes slip by, like when he mentions that "Kick Out the Jams" opens the MC5's debut album, for example, or when he namedrops Bad Brains amongst his list of influential California bands. As a result, chapters dealing with Cookie Monster-influenced crooners of the speed/trash/death metal scenes come off more as a bundle of excerpts from a music encyclopaedia like the "Flex Hardcore Discography." 

However, the anecdotes dealing with ferocious opponents to heavy metal such as Father Regimbald and excerpts from Kerrang! magazine dissing Voivoid's debut album War and Pain — "Let's get straight to the point; Voivod, or as I prefer to call 'em Avoid Void, are the Kerrapiest band I've ever had the misfortune to hear […] I mean, at least you can laugh at rubbish like Slayer and Hellhammer" — easily redeem the weaker passages. 

And just as this gem of a book is already going into reprint, the greatest news about it is that an English translation should be available in the near future. (Éditions du Quartz)

Peter Bebergal has succeeded in publishing an unfussy but thoroughly documented piece of prose on pop culture. With Season of the Witch, the author of Too Much to Dream: A Psychedelic American Boyhood establishes the occult as a phenomenon above and beyond its debatable status of mere fad in the history of contemporary music. 

Without dwelling too much upon personal reminiscence, Bebergal sets the tone subjectively by bringing up memories of the youngster he once was, mesmerized by his older brother's rock album covers. His insistence on the multi-sensory experience resulting from his initial dabbling in rock'n'roll sparks ideas as to how he picked up on the subject matter of his most recent book. As a result, his descriptions of performances by Arthur Brown and his analysis of Brian Jones' interest in Moroccan Joujouka music bring to mind famed occultist Aleister Crowley's own definition of magic [magick]: "the Science and Art of causing Change to occur in conformity with Will." 

Despite Bebergal's academic background as an Harvard Divinity School graduate, Season of the Witch comes off as a travel companion for the reader interested in whatever falls under the author's elastic definition of the word "occult." 

While the outline of some stories included in the book might be familiar to many of Bebergal's audience, Season of the Witch goes way beyond rock'n'roll by touching upon musique concrete, hip hop, classical composers, electronic, ambient, free jazz, West African tribal music, stoner rock and death metal. Although some critics have expressed mixed feelings about Bebergal's regular back and forth between figures and eras, the subject matter's latitude makes it hard not to do so. 

Consequently, the author's investigation of the influence of well-known occult figures (Gurdjieff, Crowley, LaVey, Osman Spare, Blavatsky, Mahesh Yogi, etc.) on music suggests the idea that there is a meeting of minds. In Season of the Witch, the external world, as seen through "occult lenses," becomes an art in itself — be it Charles Manson's mind control, Jaz Coleman's lyrics, George Harrison's immersion into Western philosophy, H.R. Giger's artwork for Brain Salad Surgery or Genesis P-Orridge's performances with COUM. 

However, Season of the Witch's strongest moments are, without a doubt, Bebergal's analysis of the origins of the blues and his debunking of Robert Johnson's alleged pact with the Devil. As part of his investigation, Bebergal delves into conspiracy theories, Dungeons & Dragons, Greek mythology, LaVayan Satanism and neo-paganism. Under his eyes, the whole world becomes kaleidoscope and collides against a certain triumph of order and sanity in the age of fragmentation. 

Strangely enough, Bebergal's authoritative account of how the supernatural shaped modern music leaves black metal out of the picture. The last chapters, which mention stoner rockers such as Sleep and OM, as well as Swedish arsonists-cum-deathmetalists (the latter of whom were essentially influenced by their Norwegian black metal counterparts), could — in the opinion of this critic — have used some tales about the Helvete shop and members of the "black circle." 

In the end, the book does raise the question proposed by its title: Did the occult really save rock'n'roll? Probably not, but it did cause change to occur in conformity with some of its protagonists' will. (Tarcher/Penguin)

It's about time someone finally decided to milk Zappa's catalogue a wee bit more and made this 1974 TV special, which had never really been broadcasted this side of the ocean, officially available on DVD after years of low quality bootlegs.

 

Recorded live in front of a funeral-home-quiet audience just moribund enough to make every splutter of contempt rocketed out of Zappa's mouth reach its target, A Token of His Extreme captures the soul-patched boss of the bizarre and his acolytes at the compositional peak of their jazz-rock adventure, journeying into territories that have now long since been molested by countless guitar shop aficionados the world over. Every single number on this hour-and-a-half KCET special concert, put together with Zappa's "own money and time," showcases the quirky aptitudes of the man who so did not want to be associated with the "phony hippies" who made him a millionaire.

 

Although Robert Christgau had reviewed Zappa's 1973 Over-Nite Sensation the year before saying, "Oh, I get it — the marimbas are there to mock/trivialize the serious stuff. But where's the serious stuff?" it's hard not to be taken aback by how well-rehearsed and cohesive this incarnation of the Mothers were, especially the interplay between percussionist Ruth Underwood and keyboard mogul George Duke. With bracing dabs of funk and hard rock on both ends of Zappa's cerebral solos, this epileptic feature showcases above all the unpaired showmanship of saxophonist, flutist and vocalist Napoleon Murphy Brock, which is particularly remarkable during his delirious dialogue with Zappa on "Room Service."

 

Having finally been remastered by Bob Ludwig in 2009, A Token of His Extreme will appeal to anyone remotely interested in Zappa's career, especially those who wanted more out of the 1982 direct-to-video The Dub Room Special, which featured some of the KCET footage. Make sure you give it a full watch, at least past opening numbers "The Dog Breath Variations/Uncle Meat," before reaching out to your Mahavishnu Orchestra die-hard friends. Bruce Bickford's stunning animation, peppered throughout the performance, is worth going the extra mile and bearing with Zappa's seizure-inducing editing.

 

(Eagle Rock)

The good news could have been that Café Campus's customary crowd of the noisy and trust-funded headbanging to Psy's latest output on their Samsung Galaxy would be replaced by misguided cyberpunks in lime-green hats and phosphorescent dreadlocks that look like dead ferrets pieced up together. Unfortunately, it was not the case. The real good news though, was that Killing Joke had set out to perform a full set of singles from their three-decade-long career, which implied that Jaz Coleman and company were sure to perform classic tunes from the group's early albums.

Coleman kept soliloquies pretty low-key after the opening numbers — "Requiem," "Turn to Red," "Wardance" and "European Super State" — while Gordie Walker's signature guitar sound was being buried under horrendous amounts of bass frequencies. In fact, during about 12 minutes, every note on stage was a massive roar bundled up in bass (bass guitar, bass drum, bass synth?).

Short on words during most of the set, Coleman nevertheless spared a thought for the American Empire, sardonically remarking: "We were talking in the tour bus about the United States and came to the conclusion that this is going to be shortest-lasting empire in history" before predictably ripping through "Empire Song."

When Walker tore into the first notes of what could have sent Nirvana to court, the whole shenanigan started to well up and got cool dads and punks wearing ankh necklaces shouting "Eighties…I'm living in the eighties." Bass player Martin Glover (aka Youth) sure did not look straight out of the Batcave in his pinkish plaid shirt and visor cap, but since he was constantly fed beer by the stage tech and smoked funny tobacco, his arbitrary dance moves were in confluence with the gestures of some members of the greying crowd massed near the sign that read "Special Requests: This Way," next to Café Campus's DJ booth.

The five musicians bid farewell after intoning "Pandemonium," just to come back about a minute later (which left Youth just enough time to refill on beer and chronic) and play "Change," "The Death and Resurrection Show" and "Pssyche."

Non-standard rockers and ex-DD/MM/YYYY Absolutely Free got the ball rolling without saying a word or giving the impression they were about to deploy enough artillery to threaten the background music spat out by the sound system. What initially looked like four random espresso aficionados knobbing on their instruments became increasingly engaging when drummer Moshe Rozenberg stepped behind the kit. You might catch more flies with honey than vinegar, but the creatures attracted to vinegar are more likely not to flee the scene when your shtick gets confrontational. Absolutely Free's opening "koshmiche" numbers (for lack of a better comparison, think of the repetitive drumming on Neu's "Hallogallo") culminated in a good 20 seconds of white noise, clearing off the path for another group that has not been driving its wagon in circles since its inception.

As a matter of fact, Akron/Family's weird, wide and wonderful sonic spectrum enables them to ruin a first date for someone who thought it'd be pleasant to take a prospect see a band that sounds like the Unicorns with a bit more crunch, after hearing "The River." Unhappy campers were more than welcome to leave during the first few bars with their ears plugged or towards the end of the set with their iPhones steaming, as they forsook their entry into the Akron's world and got back to where their favourite Grandlatterock band probably hashtag-killed-it. Staying far from the sound of softer numbers such as "Before and Again," the quartet kicked off the set with "No Room," the opening track on their upcoming Randall Dunn-produced album on Dead Oceans (featuring artwork by Sunn O)))'s Stephen O'Malley).

The group fully embraced their louder side and their Swans/M. Gira connection was underlined during a new track entitled "Way Up," when multi-instrumentalist M. Geddes Gengras's drum pads crashed loud enough to confirm that the Brooklyn-based chaps had absorbed their former label mate's aesthetics. Unfortunately, the trio's tendency towards heavy textural details, amped-up on this tour by Gengras, hardly measured against the sound system's constant hums and hushes, as Seth Olinsky and Miles Seaton jokingly remarked, before delving into the rest a set that showcased most of their new album Sub Verses in its entirety.

After over eight years of activity, it might sound as if Radwan Ghazi Moumneh took his time to finally crystallize seven songs on a full-length. Whereas Americans say "as poor as Job's turkey" and Quebecois say "pauvre comme Job," Arabs say "as patient as Job (Ayyoub)."

But judging from the relation that ties sound and image together during the Beirut-born multi-instrumentalist's live performances, new album Mo7it Al-Mo7it is the crack in the wall needed to fantasize over the unreachable complexity that thrives in every hum.

This compelling idea can't help but remind one of occupied Old Jerusalem, as seen from afar behind a wall on the cover of Lebanese singer Fairuz's 1971 album Al Quds Fil Bal, which initially christened Moumneh's project, back when he was still playing with Cursed before joining cerebral-electronic prog quintet Pas Chic Chic.

JIMH have progressed in mystical ways against the stream, ensuring that physical packages would provide an incomplete version of the picture. Henceforth the reason JIMH's live performances also seem out of reach, whether the happenings-cum-theatrical reenactments of classical Arabic poems require the presence of two protagonists on stage, as it did during the first part of the show, or whether the help a full chorus is required at the culmination of the set.

This ever-morphing happening is the antithesis of an industry born out of three-minute-long singles, as the theatricality of the performances, amped up by visuals spat out by six 16mm projectors, makes the minimalistic electronics, buzuk and vocals stand out as a distinct layer of a tri-headed monster free from the constrains and rigidity of Western music patterns.

Moumneh and co. are the valiant stewards of a quest for truth amongst throngs of historicized impostors and self-absorbed wreckers of civilization. Beware of the evil eye; you deserve all the nazars of the world against the "ayn al-ḥasūd."

 

"Collapsing New Buildings" hardly ever dipped in relevance, regardless of the context they performed in. Whether horrifying U2's picnic audience in Rotterdam or scoring Heiner Müller's play, Die Hamletmaschine, Neubauten always found ways to evolve without embracing the absurdity of the cybergoth, industrial crowd, constantly living up to one motto: "listen with pain."

 

This CD/DVD (which comes with liner notes by Ecki Stieg) captures the band at a pivotal point in their career, almost exactly a year after the fall of the Berlin Wall, as the quintet perform a 16-song set of caustic numbers mostly from Fünf auf der nach oben offenen Richterskala, Halber Mensch and Haus der Lüge. The man-machine get under way with a shrewd rendition of "Prolog/Furio," proving that their taste for chaos and apollonian industrial wreckage is indeed the sonic embodiment of Walter Benjamin's definition of the destructive character often cited by founder Blixa Bargeld: "the destructive character knows only one watchword: make room. And one activity: clearing away."

 

Originally airing on a German music television show that broadcasted everything from Jimmy Cliff to Joe Bonamassa, Live At Rockpalast 1990 is a compelling document that puts front and center a group clever enough to adapt any landscape to the ever-gestating monster of their sound. Other dystopian tracks from Neubauten's back catalogue are revisited, as Bargeld, Chung, Hacke, Unruh and Einheit stretch the limits of sound and grammar on "Yu Güng," "Ich Bin's" and Lee Hazlewood ballad "Sand" without overemphasizing the sophistication of their chemistry — an aspect that ironically did them in, as their perusal of the digital world partially caused Chung and Einheit to leave the band during the mid-'90s.

 

While very few people at that time would have put their money on the idea that Blixa Bargeld would someday be cooking squid risotto on TV with Alfred Biolek, this concert demonstrates a mature band shifting from harsh metal grinding and leather pants to more digestible and concrete songwriting (and sartorial tastes). Far from feeling obliged to wander down the clogged highways of professional populism by feeding off applause and torrential sing-alongs, the band have little to no interaction with the crowd.

 

Yet, in parallel fashion to the liberating frequencies of acts like the Nihilist Spasm Band and Le Quatuor de Jazz Libre du Québec, the idea is that hitting an oil tank with the right crowbar is one million times more efficient on a level of personal liberation than having Bono cover the Skids for topical purposes.
(MIG)

When Catl. played the ''intermission act'' on a side stage during Dan Burke's NeXT showcase at Pop Montreal, the juke-joint boogie-blues trio announced they would be coming back to Montreal with Jon Spencer within a few weeks. As promises are meant to be kept, the twangy Toronto outfit took the stage without any pretense last night and played a set within the very strict parameters of open G blues.

Unexpected guest Bloodshot Bill worked his way through a short set perched high up in a balcony probably similar to the one where stage actor John Wilkes Booth played his most significant role — an idea of Blues Explosion's guitarist Judah Bauer. If you've never had the chance to catch Bloodshot Bill live, imagine a six-foot-two grease ball with four or five different voices coming out of the same body simultaneously, while his kick drum gets the same treatment as a brake pedal in road-rage carnage. By far one of Montreal's finest exports.

GQ ran a series of articles last year about gross sartorial mistakes and iconoclastic behaviours in fashion (is that an oxymoron?) that included a segment on leather pants and concho belts, as a warning to anyone who is not Jim Morrison. With a career that spans over 25 years, Jon Spencer is still on top of his game and, more surprising, his leather bellbottoms still fit him perfectly.

As usual, the Blues Explosion did not waste a single second and tore into a set that included recent numbers like ''Black Mold'' and ''Black Thoughts,'' as well as classics such as ''Sweet and Sour,'' ''Afro,'' ''Bellbottoms'' and their Dub Narcotic Sound System cover ''Fuck Shit Up'' with Judah Bauer on lead vocals. As the night culminated with throngs of satisfied customers rushing to the merch tables to scoop up the recently reissued Blue Explosion back catalogue, it seems that no one was even remotely shocked that a guy close to the stage had kept his pants around his ankles nearly half the set.

The blues is still number one.