Kevin Drew

There seems to be a divergence of opinion over tonight’s show before we've even reached the door. Is this Broken Social Scene? Is this Kevin Drew? Or… is this Broken Social Scene presents... Kevin Drew? (And if it is, what the hell does that mean anyway?)

Whilst I’ve come to terms with the fact that this is ‘just’ a Kevin Drew show, the poster listing the stage times to my right fills the page with the words “ATP presents BROKEN SOCIAL SCENE”, so I'm stumped. Again. But when you have a crew like Kevin Drew does, you never know who is gonna show up. I am hopeful. And I'm not the only one. By the time Drew appears on stage, his cup of liquor held aloft, the hushed mutterings of the sold-out floor trading their personal predictions have reached fever pitch. He is well aware that there's a lack of understanding as to what this show is. He is, understandably, nervous. Drew, sips from his drink.

"It seems to me that there's a lot of pressure surrounding this show," he says. "How about we make an agreement tonight? NO pressure!"

Lengthy explanation as to what this show is not ensues…

“We may not have the horns, we may not have the girls, we may not have the full-tour-de-force…”

Side note:

Kev, why the need to explain? Why not just let the music do the talking? True, you’ve been screwed a bit before you even got here by the adverts, but you’ve got Brendan Canning! You’ve got Justin Peroff! The staples down the spine of your collective musical pamphlet.

Thing is, by implicating the name ‘Broken Social Scene’ in this solo project, you’ve done yourself no favours. While there are indeed a few nice tunes on your new album, this crowd, your devotees, don’t know them yet. So, they are expecting exactly what you put on the tin: BSS to ‘present’. So you, my friend, are buggered either way. And, by taking this escape route, you’ve pissed on their fires before you’ve even started.

“I hope he plays at least something we know,” mutters a worried member of the audience to his friend, not wanting to appear selfish or incur the wrath of the hardcore.

Eventually, some music is played! ‘Lucky Ones’ storms off as if no wheel on the BSS wagon were ever missing. It’s a slightly heavier guitar-based wagon, but a wagon of similar spec all the same. If he’d just come out and played this, no one would be any the wiser. After some more talk, ‘Farewell To The Pressure Kids’ parks up before exiting in a flourish of relaxed, shimmering layers and delays. At this point I’m being reminded of why I have a deep-rooted fondness for BSS. But afterwards, more talk, more sipping of drink, more stories. Its stop-start-stop-start. As soon as it gets going it stops again. And what’s played is mostly filler, relaxed noodlings. ‘Tbtf’ receives a warm reaction – firstly because it’s music not talk, and secondarily because a few here have actually heard it before. Drew later flexes his impressive ability to mould his disciples like putty, as Peroff’s sharp hi-hat introduces album standout ‘Backed Out On The…’, requesting they join in unison for the chorus. Afterwards, another long slug on the drink, some more talk.

More talk.

He must be pretty drunk by now. But with all this talk he needs the lubrication. However, just as they approach the chorus of Social Scene’s ‘Superconnected’ headfirst, the muted atmosphere starts to lift. The crowd want to go with you Kev, they want to enjoy this. He’s aware. “It’s just warming up,” he reasons to Canning, so the traditional pre-encore exit is shunned. No point in killing it, he thinks.

“Play some music!” shouts an impatient member of the audience. Drew appears to find this funny but the ‘heckler’ is justified. He speaks for us all. Later, during the dying minutes of slow ballad ‘Lovers Spit’, Drew plucks the young chap from the audience and dances hand-in-hand nestling his drunken, sweat drenched forehead in his shoulder. Kev, you are just a mess now.

Returning from backstage having collected more supplies, the highlights all come as a drunken splurge at the end - regurgitating a frantic ‘Major Label Debut’ and a vocally out of tune ‘Cause = Time’. But just to hear those golden opening chords is enough to make it electrifying. After all, we’ll just sing over him anyway.

Drew exits after further lengthy banter. Sweat sodden, exercising ego, requesting enduring admirers sing along to album closer ‘When It Begins’ and wave their fingertips in the air. I feel violated for you all. He disappears to applause, but one can’t help think he’s being carried on the shoulders of his reputation rather than on tonight’s disjointed performance alone.

Photo: Rich Thane