The Indies @ the Docks
By: James Sandham
Is gonzo journalism dead? I hope it isn't 'cause I was high as fuck on MDMA, hurtling through the night in a rented car, en route to cover Canadian Music Week's Indie Awards at the Docks. We walked in and were patted down by security; had our media passes checked.
"You a writer or photographer," a security guy asked D.
"Photographer," she says.
"Den where de 'ell is your camera?" he says with a Jamaican accent.
"In my fucking mind," she says, and we walked through. I tried to go upstairs, where the media room was last year, but the security guy grabs my arm.
"No access. There're interviews going on up there."
Maybe it was our dubious photography equipment; maybe it was D's wildly dilating pupils, but either way we were ushered away from the stairs and through to the main floor where Neverending White Lights, the third performance of the night, was finishing their set. Jully Black, the MC, resumed the microphone, inconsonantly urban, sounding like Diddy or Mase promoting that "Vote or Die" campaign — the same vocal enunciation — shouting, "Now you know who I'm talkin' 'bout! Everybody know who I'm talkin' 'bout? That's right, y'all: Danko Jones!" The crowd momentarily buzzes in recognition above the general din of shouted conversation.
Hellogoodbye performed. Wolfmother won Favourite International Artists of the Year.
"I'm too high for this shit," I said. Me and D left my brother and his friend at the Indies. They saw Priestess and Wolfmother play. They said it was a good performance, but the crowd had no energy. Me and D had tickets for Scissor Sisters that night. We went, and it was fucking awesome.