NeighboUrhood Festival: A Canadian Perspective

Sarah, a trusted weekly coffee breaker, shares some words and images from last Saturday’s NeighboUrhood Fest downtown. -Ed



Vegetable tray. Not only did it come with ranch dip, but there was salsa nearby, which tastes great with carrots.

Finger lights! Whilst fiddling some malfunctioning equipment, a kind man offered me a bright blue light that strapped to one’s finger via velcro. FOR KEEPS! Appropriate for fucking with mics AND rave dancing. Unfortunately it was commandeered by a friend so I have only the memories.

Leather couches. OUTSIDE! (Good thing it didn’t rain or Steve Aoki’s mom would have been PISSED)

Crystal Castles. I was really busy douching it up in the Press/VIP areas, rubbing elbows with the musicians and blogstar elite, so they were the only artists I saw a decent amount of. Luckily I’m ill-informed about pop culture so they were also the only artists I’d actually heard before and recalled enjoying.

Their lead singer was a sweet young girl who pounded a handle of vodka during her set. I don’t buy it, I think she’s a poser alcoholic, hoping that starting a band and getting fucked up will get her into rehab with Lindsey so she can give her the collage of glamour shots and paparazzi pics she’s been working on since she started that Geocities Parent Trap fansite in 7th grade. That black eyeliner ain’t fooling nobody. We talked about vomiting on oneself after the show–her lack of knowledge of the staining properties of red wine sealed the deal.



Unchilled bottled water. They had cans of pop floating around on ice, why was the water still in it’s plastic and cardboard nest? Pathetic. For a substance that makes up over 70% of EVERY ACT, water was getting f’d in the a.

No press on stage? Well actually the lame part was that if you looked official and breezed past security you could get up (the finger light helped), but if you faltered they’d turn you away like an urchin.

My own general malaise. After having my mind BLOWN by Girl Talk and Dan Deacon the preceding evening, I felt even less jazzed than in Grade 9 when my bff dragged me to an O-Town concert. Don’t laugh, you’d be surprised how few acts make it up to Halifax, Nova Scotia. My whole 4 years of high school, it was them, The Tragically Hip, Joe Cocker and Redman.