Was 2006 the Year Canadian Indie Music Died?

January 3, 2007

In a recent collection of his work, music critic Chuck Klosterman tears apart his 1995 profile of Fargo, N.D.'s "rock scene." Substitute the band names, he writes, and the piece could have been about a bunch of middling acts in pretty much any small city.

This is quite true. But it's also true that it's those sorts of acts that are always happy to self-identify as part of a "scene" -- presumably because it gives some semblance of greater meaning to otherwise fruitless careers playing to half-filled bars in Fargo, N.D.

Bands that actually get somewhere, on the other hand, very rarely want to be lumped in with anyone else. This would be why, a couple of years ago, members of bands like Stars and the Dears would get into a snit at the mere mention of a "Montreal scene" or a "Canadian scene."

Admittedly, a lot of that hype was pretty silly. With the exception of Broken Social Scene and its assorted tentacles, most of the artists profiled by Spin and The New York Times during those heady days weren't particularly tight; in some cases, they didn't even know each other.

But if not a scene, there's no question that Canadian music was experiencing some sort of a boom. Even if it was rooted more in perception (and magazine covers) than anything else, nobody could deny that something was happening. To music critics, bloggers and pale-faced indie kids, Canada was hot.

Never was it more so than in 2005. Broken Social Scene's self titled follow up to the landmark You Forgot It In People was polarizing, but to a certain contingent of indie fans it cemented their status at the genre's forefront. With the release of Live It Out, Metric was emerging as perhaps the only band capable of making indie seem glamorous. The New Pornographers, always critical darlings, seemed to turn up on every year-end top 10 list with Twin Cinema. Feist was still riding the high from 2004's genre defying Let it Die. Wolf Parade came out of nowhere to reinforce the impression that Montreal had an inexhaustible supply of buzz bands. When Stars capped off the year with Christmas shows in Toronto and Montreal, the unabashedly festive mood had as much to do with Canadian indie's coming-out as it did the holiday season.

But then 2006 happened. Or, more to the point, it didn't happen. In the couple of years previous, Canadians acts could seemingly do no wrong. But the past 12 months saw more bad news than good.

The Stills, at the forefront of the '80s revival a couple of years ago, released a poppy album that promptly tanked (possibly because it sounded like 54-40). Amid increasing internal strife, members of Broken Social Scene began hinting the collective was going on an extended hiatus. Newer acts that were supposed to make waves, like Toronto's Magneta Lane, had trouble gaining traction. While an album from Metric's Emily Haines fared reasonably well, the long-awaited solo debut from Stars' Amy Millan garnered more of a polite reaction than an enthusiastic one. Death From Above 1979, still seemingly on the rise, announced it was breaking up; likewise Toronto veterans the Deadly Snakes.

Arguably the year's most rewarding Canadian album came, rather unexpectedly, from Sloan -- and hardly anyone seemed to notice.

So desperate were critics and fans to find a new standard-bearer that they all but anointed Tokyo Police Club -- a nice group of kids with plenty of potential, but a grand total of 14 minutes of recorded music under their belts.

As he did the previous year, Matthew Pollesel -- who runs iheartmusic.net -- capped 2006 by surveying fellow music bloggers on the "hottest" Canadian bands of the year. Whereas the '05 results showcased bands that had made an impact beyond just music geeks, the latest edition found the top three spots going to Final Fantasy, Destroyer and Sunset Rubdown -- talented artists all, but hardly the sort destined to appeal to the masses.

For the snobbiest of music snobs, that might be a badge of honour. But for those already pining for the glory days of '04 and '05, we're headed into something of a pivotal year. And one band, in particular, will enter it with a whole lot of hopes and dreams resting on its shoulders.

Two years ago, the Arcade Fire were about as close to the top of the world as an indie band can get. With the singles from 2004's Funeral getting heavy rotation on mainstream radio, the Montrealers were widely being branded the best live act in the business, sharing stages with the likes of David Bowie and David Byrne.

Then, not unreasonably, they took a break. Ubiquitous in 2005, they were pretty much invisible in 2006 -- which, in and of itself, goes a long way toward explaining why the entire scene suddenly got so much quieter. Now, they're back to stirring up excited chatter in the blogosphere around the March release of their new album, Neon Bible. And for those who can't wait that long, they'll be previewing it in typically grandiose style with five-night runs in London, New York and Montreal.

The Arcade Fire's leader, Win Butler -- a Montrealer by way of Texas -- surely has no aspirations of carrying an entire industry on his back. Presumably, he just wants to release a good record, avoid the inevitable backlash and ideally play more shows with David Bowie and/or David Byrne. But quietly, other members of the scene -- real or imagined -- will be hoping for something so transcendent that it makes mere Canadianness a sign of cool in certain corners of Manhattan.

They'll never admit it, of course, because that would mean admitting to a scene in the first place, and this most certainly is not some crappy town in the American Midwest. But some more of those magazine covers sure would be nice.