Issue date: 11/15/07 Section: Film & Music

Media Credit: gemmasphotos.moonfruit.com Every Time I Die guitarist Jordan Buckley

I will go to great lengths for music. I have been known to fight my way to the front of the stage, wait in line for untold hours and become victim to the physical humiliation otherwise known as a pre-show "pat down," all in the name of music. However, in recent days, I have surpassed all levels of extremity in my concert going ways to attend one of the ultimate concert experiences: seeing a band play in their home city to a sold out crowd of local fans.

My epic concert experience begins with the running of the gauntlet, formally known as "crossing into the United States of America through border customs." The rain-soaked ride to my time of judgment was thankfully uneventful and filled with an iPod-induced slumber to the likes of Coheed & Cambria (check out their new record!). However, the peaceful seclusion that only loud music and sleep can provide on a bus at the ungodly hour of 7 am was about to be broken by a force that I have never dared reckon with before.

I was pulled from my comfortable womb of window seat and jacket-turned-blanket into the bitter rain and scent of exhaust fumes that only hundreds of idling cars en route to another country can provide. The other travelers and I were forced to line up and await "thorough examination" from one of the United States' finest. The wait was a lengthy one, and I was brought back to reality by the fierce, caffeine-jolted, female bark of the portly Officer Ryan who just happened to be returning to her post with a pair of Coke bottles, fresh from the vending machine.

Summoned to the counter, I presented my passport and bus ticket, assuming that those two articles would be more than enough to assure my safe crossing, as my luggage consisted of a sole backpack.

I was sadly mistaken, and unprepared for the verbal molestation that was to follow.

Apparently, my clever reasoning behind not having a return ticket (they're cheaper in the U.S.) and my inability to produce a concert ticket upon request (as it was waiting for me on the other side of the border) were not looked highly upon. I must apologize to all the American natives who are reading this in advance, but your foreign visitation policies suck. Never have I felt so criminalized or interrogated in my 21 years of existence, and just as I thought I would be thrown on the next bus back to Toronto, I was given a verbal slap on the wrist and sent on my merry "ungrateful" way. I couldn't help but revel in the thought of the portly Office Ryan being roasted on a spit with an apple stuck in her wrinkled, browning jowls, but the hatred was short-lived, as I needed to be on my way.

Evolution Nightclub was quite a change from most of the dives Toronto has to offer. With dual wet bars and various levels of standing room, the crowd was a mix of jacked-up scensters and laid back drunks, all seeming a little out of place standing on the converted, wood-panel dance floor in anticipation of the next act. We arrived just in time to find adequate standing space before Poison the Well hit the stage.

I was quite impressed at just how well they lived up to their hype. Fiery stage energy, tight musicality and inventive, unorthodox music has been what the band has prided themselves on for many years, spawning various imitators, and even more clone acts, some who have unfortunately managed to outsell the originators. I was a little disappointed at how few of the audience members seemed to recognize any of their songs, as many of them were wearing t-shirts of the aforementioned clones.

By the time Every Time I Die went on (to the chants of "Lets go, Buff-a-lo," no less) I was ready for a little excitement. The Buffalo natives came out swinging and put on quite the show. They played a well rounded mix of songs from past albums Gutter Phenomenon and Hot Damn!, with many new ones in support of their recent album, The Big Dirty. Having seen the band in Toronto many times before, my expectations were slightly high, but I was not left unimpressed.

Front man Keith Buckley resembled something between an auctioneer and a circus ringmaster, drawing the attention of the crowd with his microphone stand swings and thrusts. He was flanked by brother Jordan, the wilder of the two guitarists, and monstrous-bearded Andy Williams. Backing the band were hard-hitting drummer Mike Novak and a temp bassist Josh Newton.

The band has been known to incite quite the riotous response in its home town fans (as they were banned from playing Buffalo for quite some time) but I was pleasantly surprised at the good nature (for the most part) of the audience, all of whom seemed to be enjoying themselves just as much as I.

The show was rounded out by an all around awesome performance by Underoath, a Florida band who had apparently been kept from playing Buffalo for quite some time. Their songs were catchy and hard-hitting, with a live performance that was nothing to scoff at. Always willing to make sure that every fan leaves with a smile on, they played a couple extra songs to thank the fans for the long wait.

Unfortunately, I was unable to get back stage after the show, and I took it as a sign to make my way back with a ringing in my ears that only an excellent concert could provide. I dreaded my 5:30 am wake up call the following morning, but was pleasantly surprised at how easy it was to return back across to the reasonable side of the border. Take notes America: the RCMP knows how to do things right.

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