Sled Island 2025 - Diary #2
Sled Island 2025 arrived with ominous clouds that had barely settled before they broke loose and drenched festival-goers, memories of the 2013 flood hanging heavy in the humid air—but a soggy pair of socks is hardly enough to slow down a Sled stalwart. With the rain came the instinct to shack up longer than usual in one venue rather than hopping from bar to bar. Instead of chasing my favourite acts through the rain, I was compelled to spend most of my days in one spot, taking in each act regardless of whether or not they were on my radar. Sled always presents an opportunity to hear new bands and expand horizons, but when you spend most of your day in one venue, you discover even more. While my most anticipated acts of the festival certainly came through, my favourite moments came from new-to-me bands that I probably wouldn’t have seen were they not foist upon me by the inclement weather.
My choice of shelter for most of the festival was Loophole Coffee Bar, a tiny backroom venue on the west side of downtown that housed much of the punk, hardcore, and metal acts of the festival. The claustrophobic room becomes something of a cage-match-style ring when the pit starts moving, fists and bodies bouncing from wall to wall. It was there that I saw Feeding, an Edmonton death/black/grind outfit that was new to me. As I came to learn through conversations around the smoke pit, Feeding is one of those “if you know, you know” bands. The absolutely ferocious four-piece plays at a blistering pace with bone-crushing heft. Within seconds, the pit was downright violent—one of those no-one-is-safe, protect-your-head situations. The band was bathed in coloured light until someone stepped on the power cord for the lights and the room went completely dark—what was already a frightening pit became downright harrowing. The drummer turned that half-hour set into an all-out sprint, the kind of drumming that, if you’d heard it on a record, you’d be sceptical it could be played live. The crossover hustle hearkened to black metal while brutal death metal riffs and guttural grindcore vocals belched and gnarled. Feeding is not for the faint of heart, but if you’ve got the stomach for it, there’s little more you could ask for from an extreme metal band. Look out for their debut full-length album coming this summer.
It wouldn’t be Sled without some real weirdo shit, and Grimelda did just that. Despite playing at the very end of their tour, they still had the tenacity to play two sets on Saturday at the Palomino and Loophole. As much as I laboured over what to say in this review, there is little anyone can do to put a Grimelda performance into words. Is it comedy? Performance art? Art rock? Bottom-feeding, gutter-dwelling trash? Take your pick. The Saskatoon experimental thrash-punk duo, self-described as “the worst band you’ve ever heard,” puts on a show that needs to be seen to be believed. Their Loophole set included party noisemakers passed out to the audience, a prolonged intro of water being gargled into the microphone, and a brief interlude where the drummer ran across the venue—eventually into the front lobby—drumming on tables, chairs, audience members, walls, amps, etc. It felt like they were ending the tour with every bit of energy they had left, and it was a pleasure to witness.
But when it comes to weirdo shit, I was most surprised by a young hardcore band from Medicine Hat who took the stage shortly before Grimelda: tarotfuntime. We all expected the Saskatoon freak rockers to get wild, but tarotfuntime made their Sled debut by giving Grimelda a run for their money with their unique brand of noisy satire. The prairie noise rockers opened their set by starting the mosh pit themselves while the bass player bashed out a thunderously fuzzy intro. “Who’s ready to get stupid?!” the guitarist screamed before launching into their version of “Killing in the Name,” but as the eponymous first line of the song arrived, they swapped it out for “Jamiroquai!” Their set was full of comedic twists and genuinely baffling mashups; riffs would be stolen from famous songs only to be chewed up and spit out by the surprisingly tight and nimble three-piece. They never let the weirdness get in the way of some genuinely great screamo, sitting in the sweet spot between anguish, angst, and irreverence. The kids are alright!
Around the corner from Loophole is Dickens, where I wandered during a brief respite from the rain to catch Midnight Channel. The Lethbridge free jazz group had eight members on stage, and despite the brief set time, every person had their own moment that stood out. I went in already familiar with their recorded music, and while I was eager to see them perform, I was concerned that improvisational jazz might not land with a Sled audience; after all, their time slot competed with the highly anticipated festival headliners, Otoboke Beaver. My fears were assuaged immediately—this was no stuffy free jazz gig. They were fun, groovy, funky, and totally unpredictable. They took fusion to altogether unexpected places and had the crowd bouncing along with their every move. The saxophone swirled and fluttered freely (at one point, the saxophonist was yelling into the bell of his horn), alongside tight and splashy drumming that kept the rubber on the road. Huge bass tone cranked the funk level up a notch while other unexpected instruments and a vocalist made occasional appearances. Midnight Channel knows how to work a crowd!
The Royal Canadian Legion housed most of my most anticipated acts. I always dread going to the Legion—the beer-soaked carpets, pungent bathrooms, awkward layout, questionable floor-joist integrity—all exacerbated by no AC. But every year, I end up seeing my favourite Sled acts in those hallowed halls. Vancouver hyper-pop pioneer Devours has come through Calgary quite a few times, but somewhat bafflingly, after years of trying, this was the first time he made it into the Sled lineup. The enigmatic Gaylien came down to Calgary from planet Devours on the heels of his latest release, Sports Car Era. It felt oddly fitting that Jeff Cancade has often made music about being on the fringes of the music industry, only to finally get into Sled after releasing his midlife crisis album. But all that anticipation resulted in a show that was unabashedly celebratory. Devours, typically a solo act, has been performing with a drummer lately, and paired with Cancade’s especially lively demeanour, it added an intensity and momentum that brought Devours to the next level. The set was perfectly paced, moving through some more emotional songs before unleashing the dance party. If this is what a midlife crisis looks like—sign me up.
Despite all the great acts mentioned above—and the countless others that didn’t make it into this piece—the real standout of the festival was Truck Violence. Having recently scored an 8.0 on Pitchfork for their debut album, Violence, the prairie-raised, Montreal-based hardcore quartet landed on the Legion stage like an anvil. It’s tempting to try to fit Truck Violence into a box alongside other noise acts who deal in male anguish, but their blend of hardcore, sludge, bluegrass, thrash, etc. morphs into their own strange, unique, and brutal voice. They donned trucker caps, sweatpants, and camo in a kind of tongue-in-cheek nod to the Alberta stereotypes that both define us and hold us back. Albertan identity crises underpin every corner of Truck Violence’s music, and anguish fills all the space in between. The pit opened up like a gaping maw and ate the audience whole, prairie rage bleeding from the stage onto the crowd, until it got so wild that someone’s stained menstrual pad literally fell from their shorts in the midst of the fury. The pit continued to churn undeterred, like sharks in freshly chummed water. Truck Violence has a young exuberance through which they express their discontent, and it feels all too relatable as an alienated Westerner. They put on a show I won’t soon forget—but these fellas are just getting started.
Each June, Sled Island reminds me of the immense talent hiding in plain sight all across Canada. I’m also reminded every year that I’m getting a little bit older—my bones hurt a little more, I know fewer and fewer acts on the bill, and I wake up stiffer after every pit I join. But as my tastes drift further from the zeitgeist, I only discover more at Sled. The sheer quantity of acts and venues provides the opportunity to stumble upon more new music than any algorithm could feed you. I saw countless bands besides the ones mentioned here, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t shout out a few more that I really enjoyed: Emma Goldman, Thanya Iyer, BRIDGELAND, Eye of Newt, and Kerub.
See you in 2026.