Friends in Bellwoods say goodbye to the cottage

“We wanna party tonight because we got evicted from our house and we wanna tell our landlord to fuck off. Excuse my language,” said Casey Mecija, the pint-sized lead vocalist of Ohbijou, to gales of laughter at Lee’s Palace.


“And there’s no better way to do that than with orchestral music,” she said, beaming in a canary yellow sweater and purple pants on stage at the Friends in Bellwoods 2 release party on August. 28th.
Although it was slightly off putting to hear profanity with a grin from Mecija, it’s understandable given the fact that the Bellwoods cottage where sisters Casey and Jennifer lived, performed and recorded in collaboration with local bands recently closed down on Sept. 1. Apparently mold set into the dwelling where the first compilation album, Friend’s in Bellwoods, was recorded in 2007 to raise funds for Toronto’s Daily Bread Food Bank.


Skirting Trinity Bellwoods Park, the former haunt for intimate basement shows and collaborative recording sessions with indie bands such as Forest City Lovers and The D’Urbervilles may have passed on, but something will live on from it.
“I think having the compilations has made having to leave the house a little easier,” Mecija sighs. “The first compilation represents a very youthful, uninhibited time. Fast-forward to the compilation now, and everyone is in different stages of their lives, and they have different priorities and have been traversing the music industry in different ways. We don’t see each other as much, but it’s not as reckless — beautifully reckless. It’s not like that anymore. But having these compilations has actually made it less heartbreaking for me,” said Mecija in an Eye Weekly interview.

It’s almost fitting that the curtains close on what NOW once wrote was “the new epicenter of T.O.’s indie rock community,” as they release round 2 of Friend’s in Bellwoods, a 40-track double-album set of work from a slew of independent Canadian musicians.

Four bands featured on the album are playing tonight to a full house at Lee’s. Wee icicle lights cascade over speakers at the edge of the stage like layered petticoats and Kat Burns, lead vocalist of Forest City Lovers takes the stage in a pink one-piece dress with a tiny v-pattern. Her hair is tied back low, layered bangs falling over her face and a pale pink and blue guitar that is reminiscent of a 50’s malt shop rests against her form.

She pours out vocals both sweet and strong, like a shot of gin and liquorice burning down your throat. Butterscotch coats her vocal chords, melting in sugary dollops, a candy apple with a dark, toxic layer buried deep in the centre.

One minute the set is all New Orleans rhythm, voodoo magic and sway and then their tempo slows with a deep, haunting trio of violins rising and falling as members of Ohbijou join them on stage with strings and vocals harmonizing.

When the founding sisters of Ohbijou eventually clamber on stage amid a hodgepodge of instruments and the rest of the band in tow it seems like the crowd gets what they came for. Its also apparent that Casey isn’t letting an eviction notice get her down.

Jennifer Mecija stands with a violin perched on her shoulder in a dress of vibrant blossom print, her short hair framing her face with a clump of bangs lying above her eyes. Beside her Casey steers the helm of the band with an orange guitar in hand and her childlike crooning voice that meanders like a breeze amid clusters of trees, or the sweet sounds of her band mates.

Members of Forest City Lovers and Evening Hymns join them for a song and then in a wild flurry of instrument and body arrangement more than 16 musicians jump onboard the packed ship of a stage that Casey leads like a lighthouse on bustling sea. In the swarm of bodies, about four to a microphone, drummer James Bunton becomes hidden in the back of the crowd.

The second last song of the set, “New Years”, from their latest album Swift Feet for Troubling Times is the riotous climax of the evening. It starts with a simple guitar melody and then Casey blasts the last line, “Lover come grab your guns. I know that you want some. Maps in flames, I'll follow you, while you lead the way.”

Tim Fagan, an indie multi-band contributor joins her on stage in a hooded red plaid jacket, unceremoniously undoes his pants with his back to the stage and about 20 seconds later, in the middle of a passionate stanza they are down around his ankles. Casey gives an amusingly flummoxed look at his black briefs and continues to play as he does a quick two-step and falls to his knees before her, hands clasped prayer-like over the microphone.





The pants-less performance continues as a bemused Casey turns away from the sight and Tim eventually struggles to pull the fabric up again. In the middle of a high-emotion, thunderous beat, hands clapping performance a public change room session takes place.

The bitter sweet violins rub achingly against the inflamed voice of Casey, who jumps along to the beat and Tim, who bends over releasing strangled bursts of lyrics. The symphony of instruments and voices charge along at breakneck speed and then Tim walks over to band member Heather Kirby, grabs the back of her neck with one hand and blasts his words in her face, almost as if he could infect her with his passion.

The whole crowd seems caught up in it, the frenzy of a song that speeds along without rhyme or reason. It takes on a life of its own, utterly ridiculous, yet beautifully reckless. Before it’s over Tim de-pantses again.

O My Heart

Lee’s Palace is packed to the tits. The air is charged on a Friday night, as hip kid’s crowd the floor, beers in hand as red lights reflect off their scarves and sneakers. The rooster himself, Ryan Guldemond has landed on the stage decked with his signature cock-a-doodle flare and is belting out, “O My heart it’s a fish out of water.”
The Vancouver based indie rock band, Mother Mother, has arrived in Toronto and their theatrical, jazzy aura is quite impossible to ignore. The quintet has certainly made an impression on the Canadian music scene since launching their debut CD “Touch Up”, in 2005.



The eclectic style of their first album, which mixed jazz, folk and rock was dramatic and not widely recognized in the industry. “O My Heart”, their follow up creation, is getting some marvellous attention from critics who have praised the queen-worthy lyrics and focussed sound of rock and dance-club pop. Tonight everyone is absorbing it into their bloodstream, lovin’ every minute of the passionate, raw sound.

Debra-Jean and Molly are squaring off, a crazy look gleaming in their eyes, as the sinister and catchy tune, “Hay Loft” starts up.

“My daddy's got a gun, my daddy's got a gun, my daddy's got a gun, you better run.”

The girls stand opposite each other, wide in stance, voices crashing against each other, as Debra-Jean brandishes a flexed finger of warning. The effect is instantaneous. Heads bob and bodies start moving to the eerie, repetitive beat, as Ryan jumps in with his commanding pipes.

“It started with the hayloft a - creakin'well it just started in the hay – LOFT!

With his long johns on, Pop went a-creeping, out to the barn, up to the hay.”

The trio sounds related, with high in sync, wailing melodic voices, complimenting each other like three ascending notes on the keyboard. Ryan and Molly are siblings, with identically pronounced cheek bones, but Molly has more of a serene look; eyes closed ethereally or opened wide and fright-like as her fingers manipulate the keyboard.

The signature classic, “Touch up”, hits a chord, as a frenzy of movement erupts on the dance floor, and those leaning on the railings diagonal the stage automatically move their lips.


“Mascara all up in my eyes, chemical hair dyes and highlights. Higher than my lights, higher than highlights. My makeup, it has washed off. I need a touch up.”

With an unnerving look of possession, Debra-Jean looks like she’s in a crazed vocal trance, eyes focussed straight ahead, head rocking from side-to-side, her hair pulled back at the sides with short bangs.

Later, the slow, hypnotic twang of the guitar leads us to “Ghosting”, as Ryan, in his button up shirt and beige pants eases the vocals to a soft, low pace.

“I've been ghosting, I've been ghosting along. Ghost in your house,ghost in your arms.”

Molly lifts her voice harmoniously in the background, situated at her small keyboard, in a red dress with a defined black V-neck and a creampuff gathering of red material around her legs.

The night has mostly been a showcase for their loud, glam rock songs, like “Verbatim” with a thumping beat that induces sexual fantasies about men who wear “women’s underwear.” And who know that what a woman (and loudly echoing crowd) loves most is, “A man who can slap but can also stroke.”

Once the show has climaxed, the audience claps and hollers itself into hysterics until Ryan’s blonde Elvis-styled do graciously returns to the stage. With a humbled, cool demeanour he offers us a little more.

But this time Debra-Jean is in the spotlight, for her imploring, twisted lover’s ballad, “Love and Truth,” which is truly an incomparable experience live.



“Love and Truth
Why are they so hard to achieve,
Love and truth
They're such hot commodities
But come in such small quantities.”

The raw force of her voice causes goose bumps to break out, as Ryan’s nimble guitar notes blast along in a Santana-esque style.

“If everything was up to me I'd make sure that there was plenty of love and truth
Love and truth where are you?”

At this point all hell breaks loose. Debra-Jean unleashes a torrent of pent up sound, careening in time with the pounding fast paced rhythm of the beats and quirky guitar notes. Her body vibrates, mouth open in a long emotional release. It ends in a passionate flourish and turmoil of drums.

This dynamic sound will invade your mind and haunt you for days. With original, addictive lyrics and clever meshing of genres, Mother Mother will be the type of poltergeist you’d love to stick around.

*Soon to be published in Mutedmag.com November issue