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The Montrealers make mayhem on the dance floor at Lees Palace (529 Bloor West) Friday (April 27). $10. 416-532-1598.
Who’s your favourite Toronto artist?
G.B. Jones. Apart from being an amazing filmmaker and making all those wikkid pervy drawings, she’s smarter than most. She was the first person in forever who told us, “Fuck everybody,” we should do whatever weird thing we wanted on our new album.
What was your biggest misconception about Toronto?
That people don’t know how to have a good time. The city’s been kicking Montreal’s ass of late. (Please don’t tell anyone here that we said that, or you’ll have to send us into some sort of protection program!)
How do you spend your day off in the city?
We rarely get much time off, but when we have a minute we like to get cranked up at Jet Fuel Coffee (519 Parliament, 416-968-9982), walk and thrift around Kensington. I love digging at Play de Record (357A Yonge, 416-586-0380)… and, of course, having brunch with our friends – acht yah !
What do you love most about Toronto?
The ladies, of course. And our pals. Many wonderful anglos come through Montreal but eventually throw in the towel and move to Toronto for, like, jobs and stuff. Fair ’nuff, but we miss them.
What’s the wildest time you’ve ever had in the T-dot?
There’ve been a number of wild times, but to name one…. We went to this after-hours party once at a speakeasy. It took us forever to find it, but after wandering through dark alleys and turning in circles, we finally happened on this sketchy hole in the wall, filed through the door and walked up to the bar. It was one room, no windows, wall-to-wall carpeting and absolutely no music. Charming. After being stared down by the other patrons and much negotiating with the bartender, we were finally served cans of lukewarm Budweiser. Guess they thought we were lesbian cops or something – an obvious mistake. The Mystique, concerned with spillage as always, gallantly moved the doorman’s beer as it was about to be kicked over. He freaked out and looked like he was about to throw her across the room. They exchanged words (Mystique had the last one) and decided to call it a night. It ain’t a party till someone gets kicked outta the club.
