The Smalls (photo: Blake Morneau)
I have to start with a confession: normally when I do reviews it’s for acts that I’m at least somewhat familiar with, but this was not the case with The Smalls. For me, going to see the Edmonton legends on their current reunion tour was like going to see a myth.
I had heard whispers about the band’s live shows from people with bright, wide eyes. My landlord told me about a time he saw them in a small bar in Vancouver, crunched into the corner of the room, sitting on a piano. A friend told me of how The Smalls were her first punk show. They blew her head up and opened the door to an entirely new spectrum of music. This certainly wasn’t the first punk show I’ve been to, but it might be the one that cracked the gate for me.
I don’t honestly know what I was expecting, but I got punched in the ears by four guys I would never peg for ear-punchers. I wouldn’t ever have known they’d taken 14 years off if I’d just wandered in to the show. The Smalls run like a well-oiled machine, stomping everything in their path with precision and distorted grace. Every time they broke into another song, waves of cheers and applause would rain down from every direction from this crowd, who were so happy to see their returning champions. I couldn’t help but caught up in it.
The Smalls (photo: Blake Morneau)
As I was trying to take notes on the edge of the small, mostly polite mosh pit I realized the futility of my actions and allowed myself to get sucked up into the puddle. The Smalls were commanding enough that I failed to extricate myself from the scene after a couple of elbows struck my chest. By the time I managed to snake my way through the sold-out crowd to the back of the club for air, I was immediately disappointed with my choice. The band was still burning, but without the warm, sweaty mass of smiling drunks, the music just didn’t feel the same.
I can’t tell you what songs The Smalls played, because I don’t know their titles yet. Well, except for “My Saddle Horse Has Died,” which up until last night I only knew as a solo song by The Smalls’ guitarist Corb Lund.
I can’t tell you if The Smalls were better or equal to what they used to be, but I can say that they were both groovy and stately in ways that I’ve never really envisioned punk could be (this side of The Clash, that is). As I begin my inevitable research into The Smalls’ past, I’m left with the hope that this new gateway has indeed opened up for me.
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