Not So Plain

I was still a bit frazzled from my self-improvement classes. And with them starting again on Monday, I didn't really feel like heading out Sunday night. But I mustered enough energy to head to The Drake Underground for two touring artists.

French Vanilla from L.A. was a 4-piece band playing a catchy brand of sarcastic pop-punk with the jittery alto sax being a great accompaniment. It was as if the B-52s was reincarnated as a Daria-esque singer and a caffeinated sax player. Their S.O.S. cover was even more bonkers than The Burning Hell's from last week. I overheard some hipsters snidely commenting about French Vanilla's ridiculousness. But given the respectable line that formed at the merch table afterwards, some people tonight obviously enjoyed that insouciance.

Headliner Stef Chura was surprised that nobody tonight was at her last show in Toronto given that both nights had a good-sized crowd. I could understand why. I saw her last playing in a 3-set show at The Horseshoe with other "bedroom pop" musicians. Of them, Soccer Mommy is blowing up. But I don't see the same thing happening with Stef Chura. She sings in a nasally tone with sharp bark. And the music was a sort of noisy, layered, heavy-than-expected garage pop. You either love this or you hated it, there isn't any "I liked a few songs" middle ground.