Holy Fuck

Wave Rooftop, Thursday, March 13

“The Letter E Is Purple.” So read a recent headline from Salon.com‘s Alison Buckholtz on her synesthesia, a neurological condition affecting the brain’s perception of colors, numbers, and letters. It’s a meshing of reality and sensory perception, and that’s where Toronto’s Holy Fuck comes in. One could simply peg the instrumental quartet as playing electronic dance music; it’s even easier to say the band isn’t serious. Yet the truth is: Holy Fuck’s all about the visual, creating images out of thin air and painting notes all over the dance floor. With two tables full of sundry effects pedals, cables, and knobs; a live drummer; and a guitarist, Holy Fuck perfected the art of the ramp-up in this tiny hallway of a venue. Even employing melodica at one point, bandleaders Brian Borcherdt and Graham Walsh, front and center at the tables, slinked through tracks from last year’s addictive LP (Young Turks), manipulating the sound until the roof of Wave was vibrating under our feet. “Lovely Allen” was an expected triumph, but the closing crescendo of superfast live drums and pulsating beats left everyone in a tizzy, sweat dripping, smiles turned. Who needs lyrics when notes speak volumes?

This article appears in March 21 • 2008.

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