One night with a French whore

Torngat- April 20th

Main Hall

Montreal

Mr. fingers

Taking it back to circular breathing week, the folks at Torngat had their sticky effing fingers all over French whores and were not afraid to go deep throat on a trio of melodicas. It was filthy. Employing a small army of instruments we could never admit liking as children without getting a beating by our peers, and producing oft complex melodies and tight timing, the folks of Torngat should at least be commended for their commitment to analog. It was raw, and the crowd was sitting on the floor like a bunch of dirty men in wool fedoras watching a peep show. There’s something to be said about musical cleverness and it’s at times hard to see if that is indeed the case or if Torngat’s jam is more about creating some kind of renaissance of childhood or maybe this was some sort of awkward score to some hipster’s urban apocalypse. Either way one thing was certain, it hadn’t been since the trenches of Nam that I’d seen a man with his lips around a French whore and this cool weather had me thinking it was time to call the travel agent.