Page 85 of Your Rhythm
* * *
The topicof Sherbrooke Station prompts a now familiar question among Montrealers whenever its brought up: are we talking about the metro stop or the band? In the case of this article, the answer is the latter. The alt-rock ensemble has risen to recent prominence with the success of their chart-topping single ‘Sofia.’ Stroll up St. Laurent on a Saturday night and you’re bound to hear its catchy chorus booming out of every second bar on the strip.
The song has also won over a legion of fans whose devotion runs far deeper than bobbing their heads along to front man Ace Turner’s raspy vocals; the Montreal Police Service has confirmed they were called in yesterday to remove ticket holders from outside the Metropolis concert hall, where attendees of tonight’s Sherbrooke Station show had started to set up tents.
To put it simply, the band is a hit.
Beginning their career as just another group of college kids, Sherbrooke Station managed to catch the ear of mega-label Atlas Records and secure themselves a three album deal. Completed by keyboardist Jean-Paul Bouchard-Guindon, bassist Cole Byrne, and drummer Matthew Pearson, the group forms an imposing assemblage of inked up arms, pierced eyebrows, and fitted leather jackets that isn’t easy to forget.
No rock legend was ever born without a tragic flaw, though. Turner’s well-documented incidents of public intoxication, including his recent detainment by Montreal Police, have brought the band’s ability to handle their newfound fame into question. Online mockery at the group’s expense has run rampant after a photo of a violent altercation involving Turner took on the role of an internet meme.
Whether their misdemeanours will spur interest in the band on or simply cause their fame to fizzle out remains to be seen, but Pearson is quick to admit the band is struggling: “I thought everything that came with [fame] would be easier to ignore: all the publicity, the partying. Sure, it’s fun. It’s a perk, but that’s it. I never wanted it to be who we are.”
So who exactlyarethey? When the spotlights are off and the cameras stop flashing, what makes Sherbrooke Station tick?
As Pearson tellsLa Gare, “I know no one will believe this, but for me, it’s not about fame. It’s not a glory thing. It’s knowing our music has made a difference to that many people.” He shows both humility and determination in admitting, “I’d rather no one even knew or cared what our names are, if it meant they were more focused on what we do on stage than what we do off it.”
What they ‘do’ onstage is certainly worth some focus. As breathless fan Lisa Monet gasped upon exiting the band’s March show in Ottawa, “My entire body is shaking. That was electrifying.” A strange current does seem to charge the air whenever Sherbrooke Station plays. It surges through the crowd the second the group walks on stage, a sort of hair-raising premonition that something big is happening. Something powerful. Something that refuses to let itself be ignored.
As Bouchard-Guindon says, “I think people just really responded to the music, and it took off from there.” He expounds upon the band’s connection to local culture in asserting that, “I don’t want us to just be a band from Montreal; I want us to be a band from Quebec too. It’s my culture. It’s part of me and it’s part of my music.” Pearson cites forming a bond with audiences as a goal for the band: “That’s what this was all supposed to be about: connecting to people with our songs, making moments.”
There’s a depth to Sherbrooke Station’s music that can’t be overlooked, no matter how much drama threatens to overshadow it. As Turner himself croons in the emotionally charged ballad ‘Digging Holes’: “Hit the bottom but I can still stand/ I’ll scale these walls with ragged hands.” While they’ve gotten off to a rocky start, Sherbrooke Station believes they have much more to give us than drunken debauchery and meme material. They’re in this for the long haul and aren’t going down without a fight.
“We get back up [on stage],” Pearson tellsLa Gare, his voice strained with fervour, “because nothing else is worth it if we can’t. You could cut off both my arms and rip out Ace’s vocal chords. You could break all of Cole’s fingers. You could burst JP’s eardrums, and we’d still crawl our way back onto that stage. For us, that’s all there is. This band is who we are.”
As hundreds of fans line the streets in anticipation of tonight’s show, it’s clear that Sherbrooke Station is the next stop for Montreal’s music scene. In spite of all the controversy hanging over their heads, there’s something promising about these soul-searching rockers that makes any train headed towards them worth hopping on.
* * *
When I look up,Dylan’s watching me.
“I told you she was good,” he tells me, “but you probably knew that already. Just don’t forget it.”
He pushes his chair back and tosses a stack of bills down on the table.
“I’m out now. I’m not gonna sit around and make this even more awkward than it already is, but the food’s still on me.”
No one says anything to stop him as he leaves. Kay’s words are still bouncing around my brain and all I can do is watch him go. He’s almost at the stairs when he turns and walks back towards us, staring straight at me.
“Take care of her, okay?” His voice almost cracks. “Not that she needs it, but I know Kay, and the way she talks about you...” He searches my expression for something, and I can’t tell if he finds it. “I wish I could have been that guy for her. So just be good to her, all right? You should call her or something.”
He leaves again, this time without coming back.
“Damn,” Cole mutters. “Didn’t see that coming.”
JP taps the article. “She did make us sound pretty cool.”
“So what?” Ace tosses the paper at Dylan’s empty seat and wheels on me. “So she didn’t lie to us. Doesn’t change the fact thatyoudid. Doesn’t change anything about Shayla.”
“I just wanted somebody to see us again,” I plead, “reallyseeus. We were falling apart.”
“So that gave you the right to go all vigilante and start doing things behind our backs?”
“No.” I glance down at the tablecloth. “No, that was wrong. I fucked up and now we’re all paying for it. I know that, and I’m sorry.”
“Weallkind of fucked up,” Cole cuts in.
He interlaces his fingers and stretches them out in front of him, making his knuckles pop. It’s the telltale first sign of an impending Cole Speech, a rare event not many have witnessed.
