By the time the house lights dimmed at Place Bell on May 15, it already felt like the universe had issued a warning label for the evening ahead. Originally scheduled for the night before, Electric Callboy’s TANZNEID World Tour’s stop at Laval had been bumped because Montréal was too busy collectively losing its mind over PWHL playoff hockey after the Montreal Victoire advanced against Ottawa Charge. Fair enough, us Canadians have priorities. But in hindsight, maybe the extra day gave people more time to locate some more neon spandex.
Walking into the venue felt less like attending a metal show and more like accidentally stumbling into a deeply unhinged late eighties European fitness convention. There were mullet wigs. Neon windbreakers. Fake moustaches. Enough fluorescent fabric to temporarily blind a small village. The commitment from the crowd was honestly admirable. Metalheads are usually easy to spot with their black shirts, battle vests and existential exhaustion. Electric Callboy fans apparently raid thrift stores and empty up Amazon’s brightest neon bins.
Unfortunately, we missed the first opener, Scene Queen, but the second act of the night, Australian metalcore outfit Polaris proved more than capable of whipping the already restless crowd into shape. Arena stages are not necessarily always kind for opening acts, but Polaris looked completely at ease, and projected all their angst into the audience. Tight, aggressive, and polished without sounding robotic, they delivered the kind of set that probably earned them a good amount of new Canadian fans by the end of the night. Also, respect to any band willing to open for what can only be described as a synchronized sensory assault.
I thought I knew what I was walking into heading into an Electric Callboy show. I had watched clips online and I understood, theoretically, that the band mixes metalcore breakdowns with aggressively cheesy Eurodance beats. But nothing truly prepares your nervous system for experiencing it in person. This wasn’t merely loud. This was “your internal organs are now vibrating in a different key” loud.
The German six-piece stormed the stage like a travelling rave had collided headfirst with Hellfest. One second there were punishing breakdowns, the next there were absurd techno beats that sounded like they belonged in a nightclub underneath an autobahn. Somehow, against all logic, it worked spectacularly.
The production was pure chaos in the best possible way. Confetti cannons detonated so often it looked like the venue had exploded inside Party City. Balloons, blowup guitars and sharks bounced endlessly over the crowd. Random items of clothing flew through the air with reckless abandon.
And the crowd? Completely feral. Every ridiculous beat drop was met with ecstatic screaming, synchronized bouncing, enough to register on nearby seismographs. It was impossible not to laugh at the absurdity of it all. Somewhere along the way, metal stopped taking itself seriously, put on neon spandex, and discovered endless MDMA energy.
Electric Callboy may not make sense on paper, but live, they’re undeniably brilliant entertainers. The entire night felt like a giant techno-metal fever dream: sweaty, deafening, profoundly stupid, and unbelievably fun. Like a massive rave orgy for metalheads, except everyone left at least somewhat fully clothed, mildly concussed, and spiritually fulfilled.
