The Trews

I've seen these guys 22 times in the last year and they never fail to blow my fucking mind.
Many who hear me say this ask what the fuck is up. "The Trews?" They ask. Well heck yes, the Trews. And I'll tell you why...
This is a kick-ass band. KICK. ASS. I'm serious. Whenever I go off about them (and it happens frequently), I get these odd looks tinged with that "radio band" disdain that hipsters and music snobs (and those out of the know when it comes to these boys) seem to have down to a fine science, and while that look may rightly apply to boatloads of radio-play-heavy bands -that is not the case in this situation.
The Trews do get a lot of air -especially in Canada- and true that many of their freshman album tunes are not the most stunningly laid-down tracks ever. In fact, if the first time I had ever heard these boys had been over the airwaves I'd probably have been a little more skeptical of them myself. Fortunately I stumbled across them playing at an outdoor "hip-hip-hooray for school starting" shindig on the Ryerson campus in Toronto last September (2003).
Unknown to me then, I quickly realized that this band was a live force to be reckoned with.
I shit you not. Their album and their concerts are comepletely different animals. House of Ill Fame was the Trews' first record, and there are definite shortcomings to its production (not the least of which are the effing lack of audible bass and the thin overall sound) but set a stage underneath them and they are a hurricane of talent and energy.
These are four dudes who are true musicians. They love, listen to, know, and consistently pump out good music.
From the top to the bottom, we'll start with Colin...
Colin's the lead singer/guitarist and I cannot, for the life of me, understand how (barring souls sold to the devil) that guy can get up onstage more than 250 nights a year (which he does -up onstage out of the back of a dilapidated blue van that, until last year when they started making enough cizzash to book Westjet every once in awhile, was their only mode of transportation for each of their multiple cross-Canada tours) and sing (sing, not scream) with this powerhouse set of pipes that's probably doing damage to the Earth's tectonic plates. Plus, the cat can play gee-tah.
Speaking of which -John Angus. Mother of guitar gods, the guy is a vision, a sure-to-be legend, a myth in the glorious 70's tradition of cock-rock axe-wielding. He is a mad bastard on that bitch. I believe I've seen smoke rise from the frets of his board more times than times I've spilled my own drinks on myself at any given show.
So, bass. So, Jack. The guy doesn't do a lot in terms of moving around but that's probably a good thing since I'm sure if he ever got in the way of one of John Angus's wild and crazy Indy400-esque laps of the stage, all 98 pounds of the cat would be crushed like sugar cubes. What he does do however, is lay down thick satisfying basslines while maintaining a spaced-out, razor's edge waifishness that's more than mildly amusing (and I'm not going to lie -quite a bit sexy in that pale androdgynous kind of way Brian Molko's perfected).
Rounding out the quartet is Sean. He drums in his bare feet and has an awesome collection of faded black rock n' roll t-shirts. On top of this, he wails like a mofo. I mean, the guy always holds that shit together and drops incredible drum solos like they're bats of the eye, but I gotta say -at the Opera House this past December (2004) he fucking beat that kit like I have not seen in years of concert-going. Ludicrous speed. Ludicrous sound. Ludicrous solo. Plus -he plays a wicked cowbell. That's right. You heard me. You got your ass a fever and the only perscription is more cowbell? Then get yourself to a Trews show because since that fateful December night, the bell has become a staple of their live shows and Sean shows no sign of slowing down.
Further to this (I know, I know -have a break and take a breath before reading on if you must), as a whole they're only getting better. They've written a whack of new songs in the last few months and are in the middle of recording them for their second album (due out some time this summer I think), but they've been testing them heavily on audiences since last summer. And I tell you what. This album is going to be so bloody incredible you may shit yourself on first listen. Mark my words when I tell you this -Poor Old Broken Hearted Me? If you have a rock bone in your body that song is going to put a stranglehold on you this summer that you will NOT be able to shake. Song of the year. Mark me I say. Maaaaaaaaaaaark meeeeeee.
In the meantime, do yourself a favour and catch the next Trews show that comes through your town. Well ok, town or surrounding area...though it's not like states and provinces are that big either, ya baby! Step on whatever feet or planes you need to step on -just get to the next show you catch wind of.