As the venue’s name suggested in its native Italian tongue, this Montreal house features virtuosi with a knack for loud riffs, magnetic stage presence, and turbulent tunes. Although situated deeper in the Mile End than your average Friday night attraction, there was no shortage of students on the N.80 bus heading north on their musical exodus. Once we descended our rock chariot, I lurched down Jean Talon along with the other leather jackets into Il Motore where the pistons were already pumping.

Cue Alexei Martov: opening with a manic riff reminiscent of the ruckus produced by Rage, the suave trio brought the audience into the land of Frusciante bends, where infectious rhythms and psychedelic rock rule supreme. With a pedal board that put Tom Morello’s to shame, frontman Martin Bradstreet threw down some bellowing sounds on his silky strat, accompanied by brothers Matthew and Jonah Dorfman on bass and drums respectively. The audience’s mood spiraled into a beer infused funk, which rose to a frenzy as Bradstreet, emulating the mannerisms of Hendrix, ripped up the frets behind his back.

While the ambience and the technical skill of the musicians were impeccable, the set up was not quite up to the same standard: the drums were somewhat overpowering, and the bass lacked thrust. That being said, the music was very impressive, and the tasteful inclusion of a synth and piano gave it a tantalizing edge. Perhaps the raw quality of the sound that emerged through the Il Motore set up was their intention all along. Either way mad props to Alexei Martov for their unique and ingenious music.

After being carried away in a stream of synthesized sleekness I headed out for a bogie and a beer as I waited impatiently for another set of seductive sound. As I sat on the edge of the stage, slurping my beer in anticipation of the hysteria to ensue, I noticed the bassist of Bodyshakes was holding a Gibson Flying V, and we exchanged a slur of words on the merits of such a fine instrument. The two telecasters in the lineup confirmed my impression that these guys clearly knew what they were doing.

Cue Bodyshakes: With a simultaneous outburst of riveting rhythm guitar, Gintas Norvilla and Aidan O’Shea jump-started Il Motore into action. The conglomeration, anxiously anticipating the vibrations of Jeremy Singer’s kick drum and cymbals, bounced into a whirlwind in which beer, blues, and rock merged into one. The V flew high with David Whitney’s fingers not walking, but positively stomping on his bass strings. The shrill screech of Oshea’s voice spellbound the audience with the authority of a young Jack White, and the band’s sound was actually reminiscent of his music. The way Bodyshakes connected with the beer-propelled crowd was phenomenal, with a level of intensity worthy of a Sex Pistols concert. Throughout the show the crowd was a storm of inebriated bodies, rocking out to turbulent riffs and utterly captivated by the raw sound of Rambunctious shredding.

As with the set of Alexei Martov, my only quarrel was with the setup and sound-balance: the groovy quality of the instruments was highlighted but the mic could have been louder. But yet again, this was perhaps purposefully done to produce the haunting howl that O’Shea does so well. All in all both these bands were dope as fuck, and it would be no surprise to find them “looking cool beside their swimming pool” a few years down the line, so check em out!

-Alex Heymell

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