Oh my what a night. On the eve that our Vancouver Canucks NHL team scrambled their way into the second round of the playoffs, the city was in sufficient first-round mayhem as I trundled my way down to the bar where Electric 6 was playing. I don't remember the last time I saw so many people outside on the streets on a Monday night. It felt like a Saturday out there, a peppy and happy atmosphere - as the playoffs progress, I can hardly imagine what it's going to be like downtown.



I made it though, past the honking and the cheering and the flags and the random high-fives from strangers in jerseys and Puckhead hats. In an extraordinarily rare case, this show was actually pushed forward, not only by the intial 15 minutes due to one of the opening bands not making it over the border, but a further 15 minutes for some completely unknown reason. I was there in the nick of time, just as Electric 6 was pretty much introducing themselves to the boisterous crowd at Richards. Noting quickly that I would be unable to deke through the crowd far enough for good photos from ground level (especially past the guy with the massive Wolfmother afro), I dashed upstairs to a couple of prime balcony spots to shoot and spectate. I was quickly glad of my decision, as this was the first bonafide nightclub moshpit I have seen in ages! And I think the last one I was at really doesn't count because it was an all-ages show at the Commodore (AFI!). Honestly, the audience was surging about in a very unexpected manner. I had no idea these guys carried the popularity they did, seemingly with largely a very young sort of punk/alt/rockabilly crowd. Girls in ties. Boys with undercuts. How did they get taken in by this motley crew of rapscallions? It's an unnervingly haphazard looking band, comprised of a guy who looks like a banker, a drummer who looks like one of the guys off of "Extreme Makover: Home Edition" (no, not Ty, ladies, cool your hormones...), one guy straight out of Velvet Revolver, one from Miami Vice, and one who looks like the greasy and annoying coworker on the UK version of "The Office" (aka that greasy annoying pirate guy off "Pirates of the Caribbean").





But, lively! Clearly they have fun, even if they're being a bit snide from time to time. It's all old-school, almost lo-fi sounding, dirty rock songs. They played a lot of songs I was unfamiliar with, meaning, older than the last album, but the audience was with them shouting along every step of the way. And leaping, shoving, pulsing, sweating, flinging, climbing, and generally causing a big huge ruckus. The band though was not nearly as bizarro as I gathered they might be - maybe because the carnival was really going on outside in the form of throngs of Canucks fans. Or the audience, which at times became vastly more interesting to watch than the band. Singer Dick Valentine's dance moves are not to be trifled with though. Or something like that... what in the world? Between the mid-song sit-ups and leg lifts and the faux-sex cavorting about, he looked like a high school PE teacher doing the mandatory dance and aerobics segment of the school year, when he'd really rather be coaching football.



How the fuck did these guys spawn headbangers? And crowd surfers? Only a few brave souls attempted crowdsurfing in the tiny Richards environment, and those who did repeatedly nearly died from head trauma after falling off the sides of the crowd. Some boys in the crowd are clearly taking advantage of all the pushing and shoving and are getting eerily gropey with the girls along the front who are busy trying to catch Valentine's attention. Also around this point, I notice from my perch above the stage, that drummer Percussion World (yes, you read that correctly) had busted his snare drum skin. Horrors! I also suddenly realized there's only five people on stage. Valentine continually refers to said drummer as "my drummer," and that "he's American. My drummer is from the USA."The opening band donated a snare drum to the cause, and on went the show, with the added appearance of very eager crowdsurfers and stage-divers again. This is danger! Anyways, they kept the stage tech busy all night, what with all the broken glass being tossed on stage and monitors being shoved about by violent crowd surges.



All of a sudden, Valentine starts doing ridiculous and jovial Russian-type dancing. He's leaping and skipping in a circle around his mic stand and duet-kicking with one of the guitarists at the end of each song line. Finishing a tune, Valentine claims, "Those were the worst eight songs we got." He heads into a blab about the current state of the city. "The night is alive! On to round two... might as well pencil yourself in... for the... Superbowl," he states to a room of cheers and giggles. Shortly thereafter, Valentine did a play-by-play of a crowdsurfer who was up there rolling about for a long time. The first surfer, a boy, was then joined by a second, a girl, to which Valentine remarked, after a near collision, that they'll be able tell their grandchildren about it one day. "I was being a fucking idiot, she was being a fucking idiot... we met and fell in love." It's almost more amusing watching the crowd hijinks than the band for much of the show, though they did get into a political rant where they discussed being more political than Nickelback, and a lot of fun innuendoes about getting into Bush. Har har.



They did two encores. The first consisted of soft songs, mystery ticker tape falling from the sky (only two pieces...) and the crowd finally united instead of fighting each other, swaying to the music and waving lighters around. As the band left the stage this time, Percussion World handed an abandoned drum stick to some people on the balcony beside me. Moments later, as he returned to the stage again, they offered to give it back to him. The second encore consisted of Valentine taking his pants off. "A pretty boy in his underwear - if there's a better reason to jump for joy, who cares?," sang he. Suddenly there were a couple guys in the audience doing a choreographed dance routine, and we were instructed to, "stop speaking Canadian!" to their Winnipeg-born guitarist.



That was that - as if it weren't enough. Holy moly.

Elsewhere

By Andy Scheffler
Photos : Andy Scheffler
Published : April, 2007.