When I first got into Broken Social Scene, I thought I was too late. I was 21, just over midway through my undergrad, and quite frankly embarrassed it had taken me so long to venture past "Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl." Once I got over myself, You Forgot It in People became a quick staple in my library, with its intricate layers soothing my admittedly angsty settlement into adulthood.
Nearly four years later, it's easier to see You Forgot It in People came to me at just the right time. It encapsulates memories I've grown out of, but still idealize: a friend and I singing along as the album roared at the camera store we worked at, taking the TTC to my classes, and, of course, listening to records for the first time — mostly to impress people I met in said classes.
That same nostalgic buzz within me was felt throughout the crowd at History on Saturday night, each person with their own memories taking place anywhere between 20 years ago and a few hours prior.
Taming the early birds earning their spots in the first few rows, Status/Non-Status set the mood perfectly. Their brand of no-frills, shoegazey indie rock acted as the perfect backdrop for bandleader Adam Sturgeon's storytelling. It was heartwarming how grateful they were to share in this moment.
While the show was billed as Broken Social Scene playing through their breakthrough record, they jumped around through its tracklist, seemingly playing what they felt like whenever they wanted. Completely bypassing album opener "Capture the Flag," the band launched into their set with "KC Accidental" before playing You Forgot It through to "Pacific Theme."
After a notably jammy rendition of "Cause = Time," the band took a break from the album of honour, sneaking in "7/4 Shoreline" and "Stay Happy" before going back to a shuffle of You Forgot It and cuts from elsewhere.
What's striking about the Toronto staple's live set is how much they truly feel like a collective. Members jumped on and off stage and fluctuated between instruments — sometimes even mid-song — to add their parts where needed. This meant that nearly every element was accounted for, from the claps in "Stars and Sons" to the horns scattered throughout their discography.
This tactic was mimicked by the audience, as they oscillated from dancing to weeping. An overwhelmingly coupled crowd petted each other through "Shampoo Suicide," and this affection turned to tears when Amy Millan and Ariel Engle duetted "Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl." This quickly turned back to energetic swaying as "Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)" was added as a surprise ending to their set.
While collective mainstays Feist and Emily Haines weren't in sight, the warmth between Millan and Engle was palpable. Whether they rested their heads on each other as they sang or looked into each other's eyes, there was a feeling that these women find immense comfort in performing together.
Another constant throughout the show was Kevin Drew's chatter to the crowd. When he wasn't alluding to Twitter trolls, he was asking us if it was okay to play "I'm Still Your F—" by proclaiming, "We aren't anti-anything, just anti-stupidity."
That's not to say all of his banter was vaguely political. Following his dedication of "Lover's Spit" to his ex-wife, he convinced an already involved crowd to count down as if it was New Year's Eve, twice. It's clear Drew is an orator who finds joy in sharing his genuine emotions with his audience.
To risk sounding clichéd, all of this embodied a band and a crowd growing old and doing some shit in tandem. Mass catharsis filled the room, as a newly-formed collective shared their bond to a record that defined a decades-long era of Canadian indie rock — perhaps one we won't ever see again.
Nearly four years later, it's easier to see You Forgot It in People came to me at just the right time. It encapsulates memories I've grown out of, but still idealize: a friend and I singing along as the album roared at the camera store we worked at, taking the TTC to my classes, and, of course, listening to records for the first time — mostly to impress people I met in said classes.
That same nostalgic buzz within me was felt throughout the crowd at History on Saturday night, each person with their own memories taking place anywhere between 20 years ago and a few hours prior.
Taming the early birds earning their spots in the first few rows, Status/Non-Status set the mood perfectly. Their brand of no-frills, shoegazey indie rock acted as the perfect backdrop for bandleader Adam Sturgeon's storytelling. It was heartwarming how grateful they were to share in this moment.
While the show was billed as Broken Social Scene playing through their breakthrough record, they jumped around through its tracklist, seemingly playing what they felt like whenever they wanted. Completely bypassing album opener "Capture the Flag," the band launched into their set with "KC Accidental" before playing You Forgot It through to "Pacific Theme."
After a notably jammy rendition of "Cause = Time," the band took a break from the album of honour, sneaking in "7/4 Shoreline" and "Stay Happy" before going back to a shuffle of You Forgot It and cuts from elsewhere.
What's striking about the Toronto staple's live set is how much they truly feel like a collective. Members jumped on and off stage and fluctuated between instruments — sometimes even mid-song — to add their parts where needed. This meant that nearly every element was accounted for, from the claps in "Stars and Sons" to the horns scattered throughout their discography.
This tactic was mimicked by the audience, as they oscillated from dancing to weeping. An overwhelmingly coupled crowd petted each other through "Shampoo Suicide," and this affection turned to tears when Amy Millan and Ariel Engle duetted "Anthems for a Seventeen Year-Old Girl." This quickly turned back to energetic swaying as "Ibi Dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)" was added as a surprise ending to their set.
While collective mainstays Feist and Emily Haines weren't in sight, the warmth between Millan and Engle was palpable. Whether they rested their heads on each other as they sang or looked into each other's eyes, there was a feeling that these women find immense comfort in performing together.
Another constant throughout the show was Kevin Drew's chatter to the crowd. When he wasn't alluding to Twitter trolls, he was asking us if it was okay to play "I'm Still Your F—" by proclaiming, "We aren't anti-anything, just anti-stupidity."
That's not to say all of his banter was vaguely political. Following his dedication of "Lover's Spit" to his ex-wife, he convinced an already involved crowd to count down as if it was New Year's Eve, twice. It's clear Drew is an orator who finds joy in sharing his genuine emotions with his audience.
To risk sounding clichéd, all of this embodied a band and a crowd growing old and doing some shit in tandem. Mass catharsis filled the room, as a newly-formed collective shared their bond to a record that defined a decades-long era of Canadian indie rock — perhaps one we won't ever see again.
