Live, In Review: Sled Island (Part 1)

Yoo Doo Right - Photo by: Jeff MacCallum

Live, In Review:

Sled Island

(Part 1)

By: Clay Geddert

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2022 is the year of the festival comeback. Any and all festivals that have sat on ice for two years are back, and so is the music – in a big way. An absolutely overwhelming number of acts in the Sled Island lineup had me bouncing from venue to venue for hours on end, and still, I only made it to a fraction of acts that I wanted to see.

Unmissable amongst the huge lineup and early in the Sled schedule was Yoo Doo Right. After a couple of mind-numbing albums in the past two years, it's become clear that their particular brand of amplifier worship is really only meant to be seen (or felt) live. I’ve been flattened by the noise of their albums, I thought I was ready for their show, but nothing could have prepared me for what was to come. Immediately upon coming on stage, they called over to the sound tech and asked for their monitors to be turned off.

“We don’t need 'em!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! All of ‘em off”

I notice a 4-foot cab perched right next to the drummer's left ear. I don’t think these fellas have seen Sound of Metal.

Damn. Kind of a power move to start the set. I’m now patting around my pockets, realizing I forgot my earplugs. Shit. Of all shows to forget them… Oh well, we’re here now. Guitar comes blaring with piercing strength, bass chugging along mercilessly, sticks come down on the toms like they’re trying to kill them. Halfway into the first song, one of the sticks strikes a death blow and a tom falls to the floor like a head rolling from a guillotine. At this point they may as well have yelled out "let them eat cake" because we were all at their mercy anyhow. It’s immediately clear that this is the loudest show I’ve seen, by a healthy margin. The name of the game is torrential tone, and Yoo Doo Right took us on a death march straight to the centre of a tonal black hole.

When I briefly snapped out of the ear-ringing euphoria, I couldn’t help but notice the sheer tenacity and ferocity that Yoo Doo Right mustered in sculpting their sound. It was the energetic output of a blistering punk song stretched into 20-minute epics. Eventually, their set devolved into pure, euphoric drone for what must have been 10 minutes, and then, silence. I stumble onto the street, bones chattering, ears ringing. I reach into my tote bag to check my schedule and what do I find? Complimentary ear plugs in my Sled Island package. I'm an idiot.

That same evening, I witnessed an unforgettable performance by the Zambian-Canadian industrial rapper BACKXWASH. She laid down a pummeling onslaught of brutal industrial beats with unapologetic racially charged lyricism. She vacillated between divine and demonic as Angela Davis raged on the screen behind her. From spitting bars, to elegantly walking offstage and into the moshpit, to unleashing utter hell, BACKXWASH left their mark.

Aside from BACKXWASH’s commanding presence was an overwhelming sense of, “oh yeah, we’re still in Calgary” as I threw down in the pit to industrial racially charged hip-hop next to a dude in shit-kickers and a cowboy hat. Sled Island is truly unlike anything else.

After a memorable start to my Sled, I took it easy and meandered between a bunch of shows, found some grub, found some friends, and found plenty of good tunes. Motorists have eluded me for some time now, so it was great to catch them at the Palomino, where I enjoyed myself so much that I caught them once more at PinBar a few nights later.

Slow Down Molasses - Photo by: Shannon Johnston

Slow Down Molasses was a refreshing return to pure, unadulterated skate punk. Heads bashing against speakers, pure angst, sloppy as hell. I couldn’t get enough of it. Then a pal pulled me over to Commonwealth to see Necking, who was new to me, but I was pleased to find a youthful exuberant rage driven by some of the fattest bass licks I’ve heard in some time. Alongside the drummer, I was floored at the way those four strings drove the band. Right after Necking came Kamikaze Nurse, and just my luck, it was the same bassist as Necking. I was hooked. Someone get that girl a raise.

Lastly, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the Edmonton math thrash metal group Exits. “We’re not a f*ckin’ sit down band, get the hell up here!” they jeered without any more introduction. Blistering licks bounce between bassist and guitarist with pure, electric emotion. With his bass strap clinging on by the skin of its teeth and a bit of duct tape, he punches and slams sound from his instrument mercilessly. Suddenly, he puts his dad sneakers into motion and throws himself onto his back on the floor of the pit, not missing a beat, still beating his bass to a pulp. If you haven’t witnessed the polyphonic rage of Exits, do it ASAP.

And just like that, it was over. After sitting back for two years, Sled returned with a vengeance. Joy hung in the air in downtown Calgary this June - Sled is back, and Calgary feels electric once again. See you in 2023.

- Clay Geddert