Dilly-Dallying on a Sunday night

It suited us well: completely grunged out by partying way too hard the night before, we went to check out the Canadian grunge band Dilly Dally play at concert club Trix in Antwerp. Our hungover heads and hearts got wakened up real quick though – as soon as singer Katie Monks took the mic and started her coarse holler.

We’re still not sure whether Katie was still – not unlike we were – a bit drunk from the night before or if she’s one of those musicians that reached a permanent state of half-intoxication, but the thing is… We didn’t care, Katie didn’t care,… For one Sunday night Dilly Dally brought us back to the 90s grunge era of Nirvana, The Pixies and L7 – days when a lot of fucks weren’t given. So when pink-haired Monks giggled that she was wearing her pajama bottoms on stage – we whispered to her quietly: it’s okay Monks. We too are wearing the same socks as we did yesterday and still the world keeps going round.

Dilly Dally's music is heavy and melodic and shows nods to Sonic Youth, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, The Distillers, and even The Pogues. Monks herself calls it on their website “All that and a bag of weed.” Their band name kinda makes them sound like they’re a light-hearted – let’s skip together in a field of flowers – sort of group but that doesn’t do them justice. Songs like Ballin Chain and Green showed how perfectly they’ve mastered the nineties typical way of controlled tension during the stanza’s, culminating in explosions of released energy in the refrains that makes you want to gather your friends, get in your car and drive into the black of night, cultivating your sorrows and not caring about what's on tomorrow's schedule. Their debut album Sore just got out last year and has some powerful songs on it, modern versions of the grunge quiet-loud-quiet simplicity. No time-wasted listening to that beauty over there.

“This one’s for the girls” shouted Monk announcing the song Desire, making it painfully clear to the audience that there are so little women amongst them. It’s been 25 years since Kathleen Hanna summoned the girls’ at her concert to the front and still were me and my vodka-stricken companion one of the few girls present. Come on boys.