It’s a really bad idea to hold Bluesfest at the same time as the World Cup (or is it the other way around?), so, unfortunately, I missed some quality acts like Timber Timbre and Charlie Winston. Still, the former gets around these parts a fair bit (and is a huge recommendation in my books), while I suspect Mr. Winston is going to be in heavy demand soon, due to the quality of his recent records.

The real focus for tonight though – amazing, really, given the presence of The Band founder Levon Helms’ current group, and the arrival of L.A funk kings Ozomatli – are the gods known as Rush.

It’s difficult to state just how important Rush are to the world of rock, and especially Canadian rock. They made music completely on their own terms in a time when demands by major labels could basically make or break a group’s career, and they remain a major touching point for rock fans everywhere due to this independent and quietly confident spirit, something a lot of fans have attributed to their Canadian upbringing. Let’s pat ourselves on the back a bit more, shall we? Anyway, none of this even begins to speak to the quality of musicianship and song composition that they’ve managed to produce over the past. Let’s put it this way: only The Beatles and The Rolling Stones have sold more records. Fact.

So last night’s show was understandably the province of the Canadian rock fan, replete with faded black Rush tour shirts from 1970-something, and a determination to sing the words of every song at top volume. I can’t compete with the energy levels of these super fans, and found a seat for myself and the lady back where green grass could still be found (this was far back, believe me, as 20,000 people came to claim territory hours before the show). Like everyone else, though, I was treated to a three hour dream set of gems like “Tom Sawyer”, “Working Them Angels”, “2012”, and “Closer To The Heart”. There was also material from their upcoming album, “Clockwork Angels”, but it was really the old stuff that floored me. The only bad part of the set was the weird video thing they showed at the end; it might have been tongue in cheek, but it seemed like a really lame fanboy attempt. Not something I ever expected from Rush, have to say.

But as that kid by the bus stop after the show was yelling to anyone that would listen – Neil Peart is my god! While I know Peart himself wouldn’t like that over inflated compliment too much, he is easily the best drummer I’ve ever heard. It’s actually impossible to imagine how someone could be better. To be honest, it would enough to just go watch him drum for 3 hrs.

A brilliant night, and easily the hit of the festival – may be the year – so far.

The Flaming Lips

Bear In Heaven (NYC)

Metric

Michael Jerome Browne

Carolyne Wonderland

A strong Courtney Love/ Hole experience was punctuated by frequent claims that “we were her only friends” and other Jim Morrison-esque lyricisms. A little bit odd, but ultimately the audience loved her for it – a double encore was also a nice touch. Love’s on-stage presence made Joan Jett & the Blackhearts look totally contrived.

England’s Babe Ruth was huge in Canada in the 70s – apparent by the flock of middle-aged, tie-dyed, men rocking air guitars – while Marc Cohn ran through a variety of covers. Strangely appealing.

Highlight of the night was 150 odd people gathered on the grass outside the Black Sheep comedy tent because they couldn’t get into the show, sitting on wet grass for 1.5 hrs just to hear Louis C.K.’s extremely crude brand of humour. Personally, I could’ve done without the belaboured delicious cock-sucking bit. Pretty gross.

-Cormac Rea

It wasn’t safe to flick a cigarette in the dried grass on the grounds of Ottawa Bluesfest last night. A week-long heat wave, it seemed, had taken its toll not only on the vegetation at Lansdowne Park, but on the festival’s weary patrons.

Of the roughly 300 people gathered to watch Wakefield songstress Lindsay Ferguson, who opened the night in good form doing what she does best, nearly all looked too dehydrated to do anything but re-hydrate.

Similarly, Good2Go’s audience was half what Ferguson’s was when the festival opened on this night and you could count on one hand how many people were dancing. Still, the band was kicking ass, somehow managing to stay cool.

Relief came in the form of a menacing cloud that, at first, spelled disaster for day three of Bluesfest. When the thick black beast blew over the river, where it was dropping sheaths of rain on Quebec, it looked like, between the heat and impending storm, it would be an early night for most.

The gate flooded after it rained, and once reticent bystanders became lively participants. Thousands let loose for The Moody Blues. Midway through the night, they set a precedent for the two acts to follow.

Andrew Bird absolutely killed. Nuff said.

But the B-52s absolutely f—king killed it! To think they’ve been together for over 30 years is crazy. The group rocked something like an unrelenting rollercoaster ride with a psychedelic backdrop.

They ripped through at least a dozen old-school new wave beats and spun a few classics, including a version of “Love Shack” on ecstasy that sent the massive crowd into hysterics. Pure drug pop, at its finest!

RLR

The Moody Blues

The B52′s

Andrew Bird

Robert Randolph & The Family Band

Steel Pulse

Grupo Fantasma

Furthur featuring Phil Lesh & Bob Weir

First day of Ottawa Bluesfest 2010. It’s a blistering mid-summer Tuesday in the capital city. A smog cloud thick as the smoke in a 70s bingo hall hovers over the grounds at Lebreton Flats. No one seems to mind.

There’s a bum frying an egg on the sidewalk.

“There are so many freaks that show up to an Iron Maiden show,” says a young punk in passing. “I’m sure I’m going to be the only one with a Maiden shirt on.”

The kid’s wrong about the shirts, right about the freaks.

Even heat peaking at nearly 40C is not enough to keep away idealists turned government employees who relish the two weeks of the year they get to unbutton the hardest button to button.

Seems inherently wrong for this many men to be wearing flip-flops and polo shirts tucked into cargo shorts (one dude even has a collar sticking out over his Maiden t) at a festival opening with a bill that includes Iron Maiden, Dream Theater and, err, Wayne Brady (who will smack a bitch!).

Under the Blacksheep Music & Comedy Tent, Bluesfest is hosting its first ever comedy show. Whether it’s te jokes or the room temperature – a few degrees cooler than in the sun – the tent is packed.

The Relationship Comedy Show seems an odd, albeit fitting, addition to the festival, almost like rehab after the electric Dream Theater set. The words of lead singer James LaBrie – “Let’s see those fuckin’ hands up Ottawa” – still rattle around the brain like the pea in a spray can as comedian Jim Breuer’s voice chimes in.

“I’ve had swamp ass since I got off the plane,” jokes Breuer, of Half Baked (“Who’s comin’ with me?”) fame, to an applauding crowd. “You guys just came here for the air conditioner,” he ads, taking a shot at the oldest of Canadian isms. “They got air in there, eh?”

Back outside, the sun has started to set and the metal heads have amassed. Black Maiden shirts now rival the ubiquitous three-piece polo-cargo-flip-flop ensembles of earlier.

It’s refreshing.

Just after 9:00 p.m. the band that most of the black clad and, no doubt, rubes have come to see, grace the MBNA stage to a deafening chant of “Maiden, Maiden, Maiden, Maiden!”

“Don’t eat the fuckin’ hot dogs, they’ll kill ya!” declares frontman Bruce Dickinson to the unconfirmed number of 20,000 strong before tearing into a set rife with everything from stage theatrics to shredding old-school guitar solos. “Any of you who are lost and thought you were coming to see a blues band, get a map.”

Meanwhile, at the Subway stage furthest from MBNA, the Kelp Records Review is in full swing. And blues is in abundance. There are at least 10 guys on stage – two drummers, three vocalist, four guitar players and a couple bassists.

Now there are 15.

While the crowd may be sparser than Maiden’s following, it is no less a dedicated audience. And with no black or collared shirts in sight, the review seems a fitting end to a blues fest dominated by heavy metal and comedy on opening day.

RLR