NXNE Wrap Up

by Haley Cullingham

Sweaty. Sweaty, sweaty, sweaty.  My NXNE weekend is a steamy blur of neon, booze and music, and that's just how it should be. Stumbling from bar to bar and band to band attempting not to lose your wristband and your dignity. (Wristband: still have it. Dignity: Questionable). After Friday night's apocalyptic thunderstorm, I was whisked away in a taxi to Wrongbar, and hit in the face by a grinning vision in cotton behind the turntables. James Pants is my uncontested new favourite thing. His set ranged from the classic to the undefinable, and was through and through a dance party of champions. The Spokane DJ's grand finale serenade was almost enough to make me buy a poncho and pack my bags for the Pacific Northwest. Following the mighty Pants was Peanut Butter Wolf, founder of Stone's Throw and DJ extraordinaire. Most of the crowd had been waiting all night drenched in sweat and tequila to see him, and the reaction was amazing. Party! Now stumble home, fall in bed, wake up the next day, and repeat. 

In an effort to accomplish being the drunkest kids at NXNE on Saturday night, my trusty compatriot and I bathed in vodka and hit the streets. And these were some crowded streets. Battling our way through Taste of Little Italy to get to Spadina, we saw Paper Lions at the El Mocambo. When a band comes all the way from Charlottetown to play a show, expectations run high. And when a band brings several kilowatts of energy for every kilometre travelled to reach the venue, so does the temperature. As the city got dark, we wandered down to Queen St., where the sidewalks were full of anxious concert-goers and an open NOW, NXNE schedule displayed, rested on top of every newspaper box. The line outside the Horseshoe stretched around the corner, many a be-wristbanded hipster (the cool kids wear them on their upper arms, natch.) fighting with the bouncer for entry. But he was a wall of stone beneath his afro, and we lasted about 5 minutes in line before deciding to go on an adventure. The nature of NXNE is such that you can close your eyes and point at the schedule, and chances are you're within walking distance of the band your finger lands on. This scientific method of journalism landed us at the Black Bull, where I had reached a point of intoxication worthy of asking Kyle to physically restrain me if for some reason I thought it was necessary to perform a jig (likely) during The Prelude's set. Afterwards, on our stroll back down Queen St., we saw that the Horseshoe line had grown into a monster of epic proportions. "It's because of Hey Rosetta and Matt Mays," said one festival-goer, a pretty brown-haired girl in shorts. "I hope we get in, though. We came all the way from Newfoundland." There should be priority given to those travelling from an independent land mass.  

The culmination of our evening was to be Pat Mahoney at Wrongbar, and by the time we got there the only accurate way to describe the glassed-in entryway was sauna. The bouncer working the inner door must have the softest skin in the city. The crowd at Wrongbar was bedraggled, decidely beautiful, and still dancing. My favourite thing about North by Northeast is the extension of the bar hours. There is something very magical about dancing until the wee hours without worrying about the lights coming on, and stumbling home at sunrise. During NXNE the city is truly your playground, and though the bands and the attendees ranged from all over the world, the energy in the air was very characteristically Toronto: supporting new bands, drinking 'til dawn, and getting oh so sweaty.  

myspace.com/jamespants
myspace.com/pbwolf
myspace.com/paperlions
myspace.com/theprelude1
myspace.com/lcdsoundsystem