Black Pistol Fire at The Drake Hotel

I don’t mean to brag, but more than a few people consider me a bit of an authority when it comes to 2-piece, bluesy garage rock bands. I’m not going to shy away from this claim, although I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that up until the night of Saturday, December 13th, I hadn’t ever seen Toronto’s own Black Pistol Fire. I am proud to report that my proverbial cherry was popped and then some in the overwhelming euphoria of finally experiencing this maelstrom of a band live.

Kevin McKeown and Eric Owen didn’t simply play guitar and drums respectively, they rode roughshod over the 200 of us burrowed “Underground” in Toronto’s classiest cramped venue. I honestly think the best way to describe the Texas-sized music tornado that hit The Drake Hotel is to compare BPF to when The White Stripes used to blow people away with their punkish interpretation of Delta bluesman Son House’s “Death Letter”. Take this raw intensity, speed it up even faster, and stretch it out for a little over an hour, with barely a moment to catch one’s breath.

Songs weren’t performed as much as they were taken a buzzsaw to. I recognized a handful of them from the three progressively kick-ass albums they’ve churned out since 2011, most notably “Hipster Shakes”, which let’s just say is looking to be placed rather highly on the prestigious Songs That ROCKED My 2014 playlist. Amidst all the glorious distortion, climbing on drum kits by McKeown and pretty girls invading the stage to dance up a storm, I also made out fragments of frickin’ awesome covers like “The Lemon Song”, “Who Do You Love?”, “Black Betty” and “Louie Louie”.

Not to get overly personal, but 2014 was pretty crappy for me overall. If anything, music helped get me through a lot, so it upsets me to hear uninformed opinions about how rock is on the wane again, how it’s one last toilet swirl away from total extinction. Especially at this time of year, I give thanks to bands like Black Pistol Fire who go out and do their thing with a reckless abandon that comes across so unpretentiously, not giving a rat’s ass as to what any “critic” may think of them. I think of myself as damn lucky to have been the only accredited media member that night, and that there are musicians dedicated to keeping rock and blues alive and thriving, whether they’re conscious of their contributions or not.