LIVE WIRE: Fruit Bats ruminate with us other nocturnal mammals.

(Eric Johnson of Fruit Bats demonstrates how he doesn't need to see in order to play piano. Rather, he navigates his keyboard using echolocation. © 2009 Benjamin Luk.)

No, not that Eric Johnson. If only. No, this is the Eric Johnson formerly of I, Rowboat and currently playing with The Shins. Of course, that's not to say our Eric Johnson is inferior to the Eric Johnson. Well, maybe a little. (C'mon. It's Eric bloody Johnson we're talking about here.)

Expectations were high as Fruit Bats took the stage at The Media Club last Wednesday. Mild confusion occurred as multi-instrumentalist Ron Lewis took centre stage while frontman Eric hid in the shadows stage left, well away from the spotlight. As Eric began singing however, there was no longer any question as to who the star songwriter was. Eyes dreamily closed behind a pair of black Lennon-esque glasses, Eric stomped and swayed to his Shins-y harmonies, vocals skipping effortlessly from octave to octave. Not one for making eye contact with his audience while performing, Eric was in his own space for most of the evening, though there was a magnetism to how comfortable he looked playing that held your attention.

Eric would trade places with Ron every so often to alternate between guitar and keys, and the only hiccup in their set was during "Being On Your Own", when a certain guitar hadn't been tuned to drop D. Hardly noticeable, and in no way distracting to the rest of the evening. Then a pleasant surprise: drums and the second guitarist drop out, allowing Eric to play "Singing Joy to the World" unaccompanied, the way it was meant to be played. Though it sounded virtually identical to the recorded version off The Ruminant Band, the downtempo shift was just what their set needed to shake things up. Fruit Bats' music is all very strong; it's just that the jangly guitars and Eric's relaxed vocals might lull you into a daydream or two about warm summer evenings or watching first snowfall. Also, kudos to lead guitarist Sam Wagster for his evocative melodies on pedal steel. Expertise in less conventional instruments always up the ante for me.

In their three-song encore, Eric and the rest of his Bats demonstrate the full range of their abilities as they pound out a bitchin' cover of INXS' "Never Tear Us Apart", then follow it up with the closing "When You Love Somebody", which starts like a church organ hoedown. Riveting and dynamic, you could tell the Fruit Bats constructed their set list with intent, building themselves up towards a real shitkicker finale like any band that's been around for eight years would know how to do. And yet, somehow, this was their first show in Vancouver. Let's hope for many more.

SPOKEN WORD: Alexisonfire on corpses, Singapore and Warped '09.

(Courtesy of Bedlam Music Management.)

It's not often us here at ThatRockBlog.com get to sit down with bands we admire and shoot the shit. For this little chat, we thank the kind people at MSOPR for hooking us up with George Pettit and Chris Steele of Alexisonfire.

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ThatRockBlog: So, we gotta know, what's the deal with the body? You guys were shooting a video and found a corpse?

Chris Steele: Yeah... Well, we were filming [Young Cardinals] at Niagara Falls, on the Maid of the Mist, and it was still open to the public and tourists. At about the halfway point of the video shoot, we just heard talk of a body in the water. Of course, we were kind of nervous; like, did one of our fans jump off the boat? But we got details there was [a body] so as we came back and docked, they locked off an area, got it to shore and it wasn't that big a deal.

TRB: Holy crap.

CS: They obviously don't publicize that all the time, but I think it does happen quite often at Niagara Falls.

TRB: Good to know. Any pre-show superstitions? Like, do you guys do a chant or light a bonfire or anything?

George Pettit: Men.

TRB: What?

CS: It's kind of a sporting thing. Like a baseball or football chant. We say "men". M-E-N. "Men". On the count of eight, we go, "MENNNNN!" Then some stretches, a couple push-ups and just be ourselves.

TRB: Bizarre. Any bad habits on tour? Have you noticed any band members, like, mumble sexual things in their sleep or...?

GP: Our guitar tech gets drunk and sings. Ratbeard eating up all the bandwidth with eight pages open on his computer. That's a bad habit.

TRB: True. That's a dick move.

CS: Also, being on a tour like this, there's twelve guys on a bus, so you're bound to lose a few things. Actually, our drummer likes to play little pranks and there was a terrible prank the other day when he took George's shoes and hid them in the microwave. Where we heat up our food. Awful.

TRB: You guys ever go up on YouTube and think to yourselves, "Wow, that kid's really butchering my song"? Or is it like a flattering thing, even when it's really, really bad?

GP: It's a little bit of both, probably. I mean, it's cool we inspire kids to play instruments. Sometimes you see someone that's not so good at playing your instrument, sometimes it's cool when you see someone from really far away.

CS: Yeah, especially a territory that we haven't played before, and knowing there's a scene that follows Alexisonfire and they play at local punk shows in, like, Brazil. We haven't even played in South America!

GP: And Singapore. Mexico City. Stuff like that. A bunch of places we've never actually played, you find people playing Alexisonfire songs. Some are better than others.

TRB: Any plans to go over to those places, or not so much?

GP: We've been trying to get over to Brazil for a while now. I don't know about Singapore...

TRB: All right, last question: If you could sum up your entire Warped '09 experience in five words or less, what would those be?

GP: Porta-potty, rock the house.

TRB: Amen.

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Alexisonfire perform tonight with Vans Warped Tour '09 at Shoreline Amphitheatre in Mountain View, CA. Interview by Shannon Mackay and Benjamin Luk, conducted August 14, 2009 in Vancouver, BC.

LIVE WIRE: Warping the minds of today's youth.

(That's not actually Saosin's Cove Reber up there. It's a mannequin we borrowed from Old Navy. © 2009 Benjamin Luk.)

Going to Warped Tour is a rite of passage for some. I still remember my first time, not that long ago in 2004, flailing along to Flogging Molly and returning home covered in the sweat and spit of strangers. Just think: five years from now, some of the munchkins who attended Warped '09 will look back on it fondly as their first concert festival experience. Others might, I dunno, start a music blog or something and find themselves interviewing Alexisonfire.

With so many stages on the go at one time, you'd think picking which band you want to see would be tough titty. Having never heard of 60% of these bands however (coincidentally, the same 60% that all sound the same), finding Saosin at the Hurley Stage was an easy choice and a sensible opener to the rest of the festival. At first, the crowd seemed sleepy, which is ironic because it wasn't until their closer "Sleepers" that the crowd started waking up and moving about. "We'll be back real soon," Reber yelled at the end of their set, "but only for this girl who literally has not smiled since we started." I couldn't see the girl in question, but I like to think that managed to elicit a smirk.

(Mike Hranica of The Devil Wears Prada getting in touch with his inner chimp.)

From there, it was on to Westbound Train. Vancouver tries and tries but let's face it; we don't have a ska scene. That being said, we have a killer audience for it. When I found Westbound at the Hurley.com stage, they were halfway through a cover of "Stand By Me" and plugging their show at The Railway Club that same night. (People tell me the queue went out the front door and wrapped around the block.) We'd be hard-pressed to name another band at Warped '09 that seemed quite so gleeful, especially when you consider how dark some of their lyrics are. As I was leaving, Obi Fernandez was shimmying across the stage, Luke Penella was rockin' a mad sax solo and they'd just gotten the crowd on their side with "Come and Get It". Whatever it was, I wanted it too.

Meanwhile, at the Main Stage, The Devil Wears Prada was busy assaulting the eardrums of the emocore. High energy as fuck, you begin to wonder what psych ward they found Mike Hranica in or whether or not they just found a gorilla, shaved it, got it hooked on meth and body art, then dragged him onstage. Chest pounding, flailing and growling are all staples of the genre and though I wish I could tell you what songs they played, I honestly couldn't make out a single word of Hranica's death screams. I pity the fool that crosses this Ohioan band in a dark alley, though perhaps the simple fact that these guys are from Ohio kinda takes the piss out of that statement.

(Forever the Sickest Kids choose their hairstyles based on which dogs they own. Too bad they own such lame dogs.)

Now to pull a complete 180° and join Forever the Sickest Kids at the Hurley.com stage. To be clear, not even Warped's management could piece together why this Texan powerpop band had suddenly decided to coordinate wardrobes so they'd all look like coked-up Build-A-Bear employees. Myself, I couldn't piece together why their audience was so large. Years ago, Simple Plan was the odd one out at Warped for their radio-friendly quasi-music. This year, it's FTSK. Honestly, they're like the Teletubbies grew up and became jailbait magnets. Unbelievable.

Senses Fail saved me from the bubblegummery by serving up a strong helping of straight-up New Jersey rock. Though guitarist Heath Saraceno was demonstrating some very impressive riffage, like Saosin, the band seemed distant and disconnected from the crowd. I get it; it's tough maintaining stage presence when you're touring North America for months playing only half-hour sets, but if you're not interesting to watch, then there's only a hundred or so other bands to see. To be clear, Senses Fail is a very competent and talented band. It just so happens that they're unremarkable as well.

(Click on this Senses Fail shot to enlarge it. You'll notice the word "CARE" tattooed on Buddy Nielsen's left hand. What are the chances his right hand says "MEDI"?)

Bad Religion back on the Main Stage whet my appetite for some classic punk when they opened their set with "Do What You Want". As one of the smartest men in punk, it's amazing how Greg Graffin can still rile up a crowd one day, then lecture at UCLA the next. New Bad Religion material reads like nihilist philosophy and yet, fans catch on and know all the words to songs like "Requiem For Dissent", though there's a good chance many of them have no idea what it means. Careful, Greg; your Ph.D. is showing. In any case, the audience sang along with the old favourites, moshed to the new, and Bad Religion gets to put another notch in the amp.

On the other side of Thunderbird Stadium, Rev. Peyton's Big Damn Band were enjoying "Two Bottles of Wine" with their fans and setting washboards aflame in a Hendrix-esque finale. Looking every iota like swamptown hicks, their blues-oriented hillbilly rock was fresh and a welcome change in the face of Warped's usual screamo offerings. The Reverend himself also has exceptional taste in guitars. Not just anyone can pull off a vintage National Resonator.

(Greg Graffin of Bad Religion demonstrating what he'd like to do to anyone he ever caught plagiarizing a paper. © 2009 Shannon Mackay.)

"This song's about my relationship with Satan and it's awesome!" were the first spoken words I heard out of Tomas Kalnoky's mouth at Streetlight Manifesto. Before I'd even had time to scratch the note into my battered Moleskine, the band was already well into "Down, Down, Down to Mephisto's Cafe", a jovial dynamic tune that, at its core, is actually about a man wrestling with religion. Ska's smart like that; you go to a show and dance your ass off, then start wondering about the lyrics on the bus ride home. Easily one of the best ska acts in North America, even the heavens seemed to admire their tenacity. Somewhere in the fog of pot smoke, the sun broke through the clouds as Streetlight tooted its final horn and Kalnoky yelled, "If you don't have our music yet, it's free on the internet! Steal the shit out of it!"

Back on the Main Stage: "What's the difference between Boy Scouts and Jews?" NOFX has the answer: "Boy Scouts actually come home after camp." Offended already? Try half an hour more of that. After a while, the music took a backseat to the ethnic comedy and the crowd began to play along. The band asked their audience if they'd rather have 60% Asians in their population or 60% Mexicans. The audience chose Asians. Anyway.

(It's not a perspective thing. Dallas Green, lower left, really is that short in real life.)

Taking a detour from the Main Stage to catch Meg & Dia based on hype alone, I found a cutesy girl band performing the kind of pop that makes you want to buy American Eagle hoodies and dot your lowercase I's with dumb little hearts. Inoffensive and sweet, but nothing to write home about.

And it was here that Alexisonfire took the Main Stage and melted my fucking face off. Having met George Pettit and Chris Steele earlier for an interview (to go up sometime next week), it was that much more urgent when George rushed to the front of the stage, working the crowd. The next 40 minutes were a blur. "Accidents" started blaring out of the speakers and Dallas says, "I don't feel like singing." As a result, the audience sang all of Dallas' parts while George growled into the mic. Massive balloons drift onstage and in something like a UFC bear hug, George pops them and makes confetti rain down on the photo pit. Dallas charges back and forth between his amp and his mic like a bull in a china shop and George stage dives into the front row to cheers and screams. In the thick of the mosh pit, shirtless punks charge each other, slowing down only to pump their fists during the chorus of "Young Cardinals". We scream ourselves hoarse and at the end of it all, we're thanked for our love. Apparently, for the US leg of their tour, Alexisonfire only play the Hurley Stage. It's only because of their massive fan following in Canada that they play the Main Stage in Vancouver.

(I'm not sure where 3OH!3 got those shirts, but I have a feeling there's a couple in Malibu wondering where their suitcase went. © 2009 Shannon Mackay.)

Now, what can I say about 3OH!3 that hasn't been said before? Well, first off, I love these guys and I'll be the first to admit that as far as guilty pleasures go, that's kind of embarrassing. But that won't stop me from making fun of them. Their main selling point seems to be that they've taken douchebaggery and turned it into an art form. And yet, their wholly unique white-boy synthpop crunk-rock seems to have captured the imaginations of the 14-19 age group, though I'm really not sure how they've gotten away with it. Maybe it's the jokeyness of their lyrics, maybe it's that they don't take themselves too seriously; either way, they've gotten huge recently and I don't know how, so ask your kids. Sean and Nathaniel rapped their way through as much of Want as they had time for, making their way through "Punkbitch", "Chokechain", "Richman" and (predictably) closing on "Don't Trust Me". I may or may not have dance battled a scene kid. The scene kid may or may not have won.

As I left Thunderbird Stadium with my crew and cameras in tow, Gallows was busy kicking the shit out of their fans on the Hurley Stage. Desperately clinging to the last vestiges of hard rock integrity still left at Warped, the audience they drew was like a miniature riot. As we pass the tour buses, a roadie leans out the window and hands us a freezie. Not much hard rock left here, I'm afraid. Still a hell of a time though.

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Join us next week for our chat with George Pettit and Chris Steele of Alexisonfire! We sit down with the boys and pick their brain on corpses, Singapore, YouTube and Warped. Bookmark the crap out of us.

Also, wondering why the photo quality seems to be lacking today? It's 'cuz the pictures are too damn small! Go back and click 'em all to see them in high-resolution glory. All photos © 2009 ThatRockBlog.com.

LIVE WIRE: Hipsters get de-Virginized. Thunder and lightning ensue.

(Jarvis Cocker waited all day for a high-five that never came. Sad. © 2009 Shandra Stephenson.)

Day One: It should go without saying that Virgin Fest '09 is not a festival for virgins; it was a festival for hipsters. The festival gates opened at 1 PM and hordes of them came apathetically trickling in, traipsing around in their colourful sunglasses and baggy black V-necks.

The first band that played, The British Columbians, didn't even have an audience. From the media tent, I could hear their lame attempts to coax the audience over to them. When they finished playing their first song, nobody was even motivated to applaud.

The first couple of bands weren't worth mentioning, so I won't. This was not off to a good start.

Mute Math were the first band to get their audience interested. They were loud and precise, and the drummer was rocking out so hard, he had to tape his ear protection to his head.

It wasn't until k-os that people finally started showing up in adequate quantities. His whole set was a mindfuck of auditory allusions. Starting off with a nod in the direction of Rush and another to Black Sabbath not too far behind, both the rockers and hipsters alike could relate and gave k-os their love accordingly. As his finale, he played his own "Heaven Only Knows" over top of "Stairway to Heaven" in an inspired amalgamation of old and new. The sun broke through the clouds and a sort of euphoria broke out over the crowd.

Broken Social Scene followed k-os with a show so intimate, listening to their set was like sitting at a kitchen table drinking wine with a close friend. "This is therapy! Get on the couch and scream as loud as you can!" they yelled. The audience got right on that couch, and it was here that the festival energy picked up and became a force to be reckoned with.

Next band up was Spinnerette, the second to last scheduled for the evening. Brody Dalle, as badass as ever before, approaches the mic with her guitar in hand. Without even acknowledging their audience in a display of rock diva indifference, the band started, and this was when the weather began to really make itself known. Fork lightning and thunder so frequent and so close together that they overlapped, danger and awe were in the air. By the time lightning hit the lake, half the audience had already turned away from the band to look up at the sky.

Spinnerette had to end early. A wet stage, hot lights and a massive lightning storm don't bode well for public safety. The Roots didn't even get to perform.

(Brody Dalle of Spinnerette, sporting the chunky shades she once killed a hipster for. She's hardcore like that. © 2009 Sylvia McFadden.)

Day Two: De La Soul was the first interesting band on the second day. Their voices were clear through the scalding heat, and they were witty and lighthearted despite the fact their audience was melting. They even invited the costumed alcohol-stealing shrubs onstage, proclaiming, "There's nothing like a good bush."

Jarvis Cocker is the next musician to catch my ear as he sings a birthday jingle to Mick Jagger. Sounding like the love child of David Bowie and a unicorn, he also appears to be seven feet tall and an alien. If that isn't a good enough reason to check him out, then I don't know what is.

You know we've moved on to the big fellas when Sonic Youth step out onstage. These aging punk rockers still have it. Kim is still as beautiful as always and just as weird. The band is still playful after all these years, laughing and joking onstage. They all have huge smiles throughout their entire performance and their enthusiasm is infectious.

Metric came onstage happier than I've ever seen them. Emily was beaming wearing a sequined short skirt, a white ripped-up old beater and various tarnished silver necklaces. She smiled the entire set and ended on a hippie-inspired rendition of "Stadium Love", clutching her microphone to her heart and grinning at her audience.

Ben Harper & Relentless7 came on as the sun was setting. Ben said that they were there to play blues, and motioned to the three white guys he has backing him. Jordan Richardson was phenomenal on drums. He looked as though he was out to destroy his kit and just happened to keep time along the way. For the second song, he picked up a pair of maracas and started pounding away with them, carelessly tossing them aside the moment he was done.

(Ben Harper making sweet, sweet love to his mic. Messy, that. © 2009 Shandra Stephenson.)

Virgin Fest '09 had all the makings of a fantastic summer festival but overall, it felt underpopulated and didn't have much momentum until it was almost over. The lightning storm however, made it a festival to remember.

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Our lazy-ass editor Benjamin Luk would like to apologize for the lateness of this post. Yes, we're fully aware Virgin Fest '09 took place a full two weeks ago but did Ben give a crap? No, he was too busy dicking around in San Francisco and neglecting his editorial duties.

Send your hate mail to info@benjaminluk.com and tell him what a douchebag he is. Select e-mails will be published in an upcoming Editor's Note.