As always, touring reminds me of what I already know. That Canada is a beautiful place, full of people that are deeply kind, very talented, and worth knowing.
Halifax Pop Explosion is the nicest festival EVER. I just want to point that out. So nice. And so many lovely/crazy things happened. Like a completely unexpected house show in Saint John that got broken up by the cops in the nicest way possible, but we still sang Crabapples while dancing wildly around a shag carpeted living room with babies, youths, and older folks shreiking 'OH HELL NO!' while the cop smiled, and took Leon's drum sticks. And then there was playing a coffee shop in the Ottawa Valley to the most lovely crowd ever, in the middle of nowhere. And also leaping exhaustedly around the Gus's Pub stage with Entire Cities, waving streamers in the air, channeling my 7 year old ribbon dancing self while screaming 'fucked up' into the microphone. And the myriad pleasures and pains of driving a few thousand kilometers, sardined into a station wagon, with our gear and possessions piled to the roof.
We got a couple reviews for our Halifax Pop showcase. Gosh, they are nice.
SoundProof Magazine:
"So nice to see new venues on Gottigen Street," my cab driver remarked as we pulled up to The Company House. The venue, barely a year old, has added a welcome vibrancy and nighttime bustle to one of Halifax's most maligned and overlooked north-end neighbourhoods. Inside, the red walls, cozy lighting and friendly faces added to the warm atmosphere. Toronto songwriter Tamara Lindeman, who plays under the moniker The Weather Station, looked a little flummoxed by the bright lights and noisy crowd—"All I can see are sparkles of light. It's quite surreal," she said at one point—but quickly became comfortable. Lucky for us, too, because her show is spellbinding.
It's easy to see how Lindeman has dazzled so many other writers and showgoers. When you try to describe this woman and the music she makes, words fail. It is difficult to describe something that sounds so familiar but also feels so otherworldly. Lindeman's voice rings delicate but deep, and her fingers move on instruments—banjo strings, guitar frets, and a bow—with strength and sureness beyond her years. A lot of female songwriters are compared to Joni Mitchell, but Lindeman is the first musician I've ever seen who actually captures her vocal and lyrical prowess. The music is also delightfully ambient—sometimes Lindeman would loop her voice into a three part harmony, and ended one song with a gentle whistle that sounded like the call of a loon. For her last two songs, she was joined by bandmates from her equally good ensemble, Entire Cities. They launched quickly into a banjo-fuelled, propulsive rager, with some members seated offstage and standing on the floor. Somehow, all of the song's intricate parts floated and eventually met, fitting together just as it seemed on the verge of collapse. The show was entirely too short, and my only complaint is reserved for the people clustered at the back, talking loudly throughout the set. But Lindeman seemed unfazed, totally locked in this unearthly, beautiful musical landscape she'd created—and so were we.
By Alison Lang
The Coast - Scene and Heard
Later on I went to the Company House for The Weather Station, the solo-ish project of Tamara Lindeman, who plays banjo with Entire Cities (Gus', 12am tonight). I had a love affair with banjos in the spring and summer of last year, ending with a week at a friend's in Winnipeg where I'd sit in a chair with his cat and listen to him practice every night. Then those banjo times disappeared and life went on, but The Weather Station puts me right back there. Understated and elegiac, this is kind of what I imagine it was like watching Joni Mitchell play an empty club in Toronto in 1965. The contributions from her Entire Cities bandmates on some songs are lovely, but the stripped-down aesthetic is completely fulfilling on its own.
By Laura Kenins
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