I remember a time long ago when Johndavid, my older brother, came home to Sydney from Halifax where he worked. My friends and I were always excited to see Johndavid as he would tell us stories about the wonders of the big city – the bright lights, the tall buildings, the pretty girls who he’d take to the soda fountain and the picture shows. This particular time, however, Johndavid had an even more awe inspiring tale – he spoke of a magical wonderland of bliss and happiness where people gathered to listen to wandering minstrels singing original tales of love, loss and recovery. My brother called this wonderland a “club”, a place where these groups of minstrels, or “bands”, could play their own songs to an appreciative audience. “What?” my friends and I exclaimed. “No shitty top 40 cover bands?, no old men with fiddles?, no greasy DJ’s playing endless requests for Puff Daddy in the hopes that he’ll impress the underage girls right out of their sexy little jeans?”
“Nope” my brother replied, just fresh, original, honest to goodness rock’n’roll. “Frigoff!” my friends and I shout in disbelief. I remember this story now because for one night – September 5th, the Capri became this magical wonderland of which my brother spoke. PF Station had returned to town for their third show of the summer. The band was rock solid as usual, playing through two sets of catchy modern pop, hard funk jams and wicked covers of Daft Punk’s “Around the World” and the theme to Star Wars. The hour and a half long break in between sets was, in my opinion, about as cool as gum disease, but what do I know about being cool anyway? One thing I do know is that as great as it is to see a great band from away once in a while, it’s even better when the great band from away is actually from here. So rock’n’roll. – Sunny D.