My Montreal Diary

[NightTrain]

Finally got around to writing down my recent experiences north of the border. To wit....

I recently spent a long weekend (Friday, Sept. 12 - Sunday the 14th) in Montreal. I drove up there for Rockabilly Jam #18, an annual shindig that the small but intense Montreal Hepcat Movement puts on. (Or, more specifcally, that Double Concept Productions, under the expert guidance of Nathalie Lavergne, puts on. Hey, let's give credit where it's due!)

Aside from stupidly timing my arrival at 4:30 Friday afternoon (You know, there's lots of cars in Montreal), I had one terrific weekend! For accommodations, I stayed at a fledgling bed and breakfast for only $35 a night Canadian. Turned out, the owner himself is a Montreal Hepcat whose big musical love is '50s-era country music. We did a whole lotta chatting about Hank Williams, baby! Plus, Maurice and his wife Noriko have a beautiful seven-month-old baby, Leland, who seemed to take an instant liking to me. And the feeling was thoroughly mutual!

So, at 6:00 Friday evening, I met a bunch of hepcats and kittens at a Polynesian-themed restaurant called Jardin Tiki, located on Sherbrooke Avenue. As I drove along Sherbrooke looking for the place, I passed the oddest-looking building I had ever seen. It reminded me of a fat guy with a huge boner lying on his back. Turned out, the building is a sports stadium that the City of Montreal put up in 1976, when it hosted the Olympics. And the building has required constant (and very expensive) maintenance ever since! I believe the operative word for that stadium is "boondoggle"--particularly the "boner" thingy, which now has to be held up by dozens of guy wires since the time it pulled the old "Leaning Tower of Pisa" prank during a classic car show and scared the crap out of hundreds of people. Still, I found it oddly reassuring that the Canadian government is just as capable as Uncle Sam of spending the people's tax dollars on incredibly stupid shit.

Speaking of incredibly stupid shit: it turns out, Canadian radio sucks every bit as badly as U.S. radio does. But you know, there was something delightfully Alfred Jarry-like about hearing "Judy in Disguise (With Glasses)" sung in French. After that experience, I kept looking around for Pere Ubu. Never did see him, though.

After dinner, a bunch of us went to a small (and I do mean small!) underground barroom called Escogriffe, where I spent the latter half of Friday night grooving to the rockabilly rhythms of local boys the Howlin' Hound Dogs. You know, there's a difference between merely re-creating a musical style and actually internalizing it. After catching the Howlin' Hound Dogs that night, I can state with complete confidence that those four men have clearly mastered the latter! After the show, it was back to the bed and breakfast (after an unplanned hour-long tour of Montreal's numerous one-way streets) for a much-needed session of looking at the back of my eyelids.

I dragged my derriere out of bed long about noontime on Saturday. The weather was precisely as it had been the day before: warm, sunny, and just beautiful. It was like the cosmos all came together that weekend to ensure that I enjoyed Montreal as thoroughly as I could. Anyway, I spent Saturday afternoon driving aimlessly about the city, taking in as much of Montreal as I could. By the time I returned to the B&B for a late-afternoon nap, I had concluded that Montreal was Canada's version of Manhattan. Certain sections even reminded me of Greenwich Village.

Now we come to Saturday night and the Rockabilly Jam. I really don't know what to say, except that those Montreal Hepcats know how to have a damned party! All the bands were great, but I was particularly impressed with Hank Engel, a native of Utica, NY, who now lives in Montreal and fronts a band called the Hoosier Daddies. That cat has loads of talent, so I hope he keeps right on doin' the music thang!

Headlining the night was Art Adams, an Indianapolis native and veteran of the 1950s rockabilly scene. The singles he recorded in 1959 and '60 have long been cult favorites. Adams played for longer than an hour, during which time he showed us whippersnappers just how rockabilly oughta sound! And then some.

Rounding out the night was an audience of several hundred people, most of them nowhere near old enough to remember the 1950s. They weren't about to let that stop 'em from rockin' it up, though. Most of those folks came to the jam decked out in clothes that made me feel like I was on the set of an old Mamie Van Doren flick. And boy, could some of those cats and kittens dance! Their steps would've fit right in at a 1957 sock hop. Hell, I got tuckered out just watching 'em.

I left Montreal at 1:00 Sunday afternoon and got home about seven hours later. Now all I have is memories of the best damned weekend I had in ages. But what memories they are.

Thank you, Montreal! I love ya. And rest assured, I will be back. So hide the sheep.