Last time North Carolina Wednesday played Toronto show headlinersIt was at the Horseshoe Tavern, the establishment's twinkling lights, checkerboard floor and saloon atmosphere the perfect backdrop for the band's country noise. Two years later they are back again with this year's excellent version. Bleeding – and dad's hats and carabiners were on display on Saturday (November 15) when the band returned for a much bigger and sold-out show in Concert hall.
Grunge pop lovers in Toronto 9 million opened the night, walking out to applause and the whirring and gurgling of a keyboard. With seven members on stage, it was often painfully loud (in the best way), and I'll have to remember to bring earplugs the next time I see them – which I definitely will.
Their melodic, rowdy sound is equal parts dreamy and edgy, with guitars fuzzing and cascading and vocals coming from all sides of the stage as a four-piece. There was shredding, there were a lot of power chords and there was a Hello Kitty guitar. (PS: I love scrapers. More bands need to use scrapers, take it back to 1999.)
Although their logo screams “nu”, their sound is far from it, indebted largely to the alternative rock of the 80s and 90s. Perhaps Sonic Youthian? Dinosaur Jr. style? Smash Pumpkin? I'm here for it all, and it's easy to get lost in the hustle and bustle. They tell us that “it's Wednesday every day” by shouting out the headliners.
Photo: 9 Million by Matt Forsythe
At one point, lead vocalist and guitarist Matthew Tomasi broke a string, but Wednesday's Carly Hartzman quickly acquired another guitar and the show continued with barely a beat missing. Tomasi set it up “reasonably well”, but it quickly became apparent that this was not the case; then he said it sounded cool, so maybe this is a new approach.
The meditative, almost ambient instrumentals compensate for the harsher parts, but not in intensity. This year's self-titled full-length is a great piece of pedal-worship, standing out among the flood of MBV, Ride, and Slowdive clones that have flooded TikTok over the last couple of years. 9 Million really seems to be having fun there, and for this often self-serving genre, it makes perfect sense in the diodes. Don't sleep on them.
Led by Gabi Gamberg, Philly's Depot have a vibe similar to edgy, country-fried indie that undoubtedly owes a debt to Jason Molina (doesn't it?). Gamberg has a high-pitched voice with just the right amount of fries, and their music – often mid-tempo and rhythmic – is filled with great guitar lines and has a killer rhythm section: Matt Schuessler loves to take his crazy bass for a ride, and drummer Nick Wilkerson is tougher than one of his heads.
Photo: Duffau Matt Forsythe
There was a lot of feedback and mournful indie rock, plus driving punk rhythms, and the number of people jumping and dancing to them slowly grew throughout the set. I cut my hair, especially during Absence Makes the Heart Grow and Go Bring It. “Bad Dog,” with its consistent drum beat and minor key melody, was hypnotic, and the post-rock flourishes and soulful guitar solos courtesy of Wyatt Kirshner kept things interesting.
Gamberg even let out heartbreaking screams bordering on a deadly growl. They had some technical problems recording the very last song, but then the amp (or guitar?) came back to life and they ended the set with the dreary and slow “Dagger Song”. They walked out to a much bigger cheer than what they were going for. Well deserved, I would say.
A giant banner behind Wednesday, decorated with artwork from Bleeding the album cover swaying under the lights, the wallpapered sheet revealing nightmares as the band walked out to the cacophonous sounds of Big Black. With new touring guitarist Jake Pugh (and playing with a child's shoe dangling from the headstock), they sounded energetic, massive, powerful, right from the jump.
Photo: “Wednesday” by Matt Forsythe
While the environment relied heavily on Bleedingstarting with one of the best tracks of this album, “Reality TV Argument Bleeds”, which they dug up from the catalog again, with a song from 2023. The rat saw God receiving the second biggest love. Unfortunately, they didn't perform their single greatest song, the beautiful, epic “Chosen to Deserve,” but such is life.
Hartzman greeted us early in the morning with a pleasant “Hello” before launching into “Got Shocked.” The crowd seemed to be pulsating, shaking, swaying and most importantly, screaming like hell right from the start. At some point, Hartzman asked how we were doing. As the crowd silently applauded and she said, “Me too!” She later mentioned that the handmade noodles in Toronto are “especially good.” Sometimes the best banter is the simplest.
There is a tough freedom to Wednesday's game, free and unencumbered, but still very tight, like a worn-out net. Xandy Chelmis' pedal steel floated and hummed, sometimes menacing, sometimes transcendental, always necessary, while drummer Alan Miller and bassist Ethan Becktold held it all together. The sound of them made my ribs shake, even on the balcony, while some guys behind me repeated: “Such a damn heavy dude. So damn heavy.” I myself could not have expressed it more eloquently.
“Wound Up Here (By Holdin' On)” drew some of the loudest applause of the night as numerous phones flashed over the crowd to capture a snippet of the performance. It just shows that this is a band where new material is just as loved and welcomed as old material. No small feat.
Photo: “Wednesday” by Matt Forsythe
Before “Candy Breath,” Hartzman told us she wanted us to “act like it's Saturday night,” and as soon as the song started, the very reasonable and generally respectable mosh pit complied. It grew exponentially, a blanket that engulfed more and more members as the song progressed. Afterward, she paid tribute to 9Million and then introduced 2021's “Cody's Only” as “kind of old.”
The sound throughout the performance was clear, full and crisp, with Miller's drums especially cutting through the floating chords and bass lines. There was also a distinct lack of people filming in the crowd, which further shows the dedication of this fan base: they really want to be in the moment and enjoy the music. The songs seemed to be layered on top of each other, the waves breaking and breaking, distinct yet consistent, a single sound made up of brilliant individual fragments.
The balcony was a stoic sea of hypnotized patrons, unmoved except for one guy shouting “9 million” whenever they were mentioned. Paul continued to dance, sway and sway, and eventually Gamberg came out and joined the group for a rendition of “Phish Pepsi.” It opened up with a slight shake while the song's tight, barefoot guitar lines danced over everything. After the song, Chelmis called the two guys screaming from opposite sides of the balcony “the two old men from the Muppets,” but those were good words, so they couldn't have been Statler and Waldorf.
The rowdy parts of “Pick Up That Knife” were twice as powerful, and the blended sections of the song were even more effective live than on record. Live, the final chorus is menacing, corrosive, apocalyptic—just like coming home for the holidays.
Hartzman mentioned that they last played the Concert Hall in 2024, opening for the mighty Unwound. Their own sold-out show a year later shows how popular and far they have come. “Bitter Everyday” opened up the night’s biggest hole, with Hartzman messing up the chords in the quiet section near the end. She even let out a loud “Oops!”, which was an unapologetically human moment. The crowd screamed, undeterred.
Photo: Wednesday, Matt Forsythe
Before Bath County, she acknowledged there were “different levels of experience in the crowd” and mentioned the level of moshing that would undoubtedly take place, telling people to move to a safe area for the inevitable crunch if they didn't want to get into it. When it came, it was huge: the entire center of the crowd was bumping, jumping and singing to it. Everyone was safe and no one cried (at least from the blows; I can’t vouch for the emotions). When the song ended, Hartsma said: “Now It’s Saturday evening!”
Unsurprisingly, “Elderberry Wine” received the loudest sing-along of the night, but even more surprisingly, it opened a tiny but still respectable mosh pit. In the end, Hartzman told us that they had three songs left and that they weren't doing an encore, preferring to keep it all in the energy department. She asked us to go crazy with the last few tracks. From floor to rafters, everyone happily agreed.
During “Townies” a huge dance circle formed before the first chorus brought everyone into conflict, Hartzman's voice rising above the noise and crowd and through the soul into the ceiling. All in all, great crowd participation for a song that's “kind of a craft.”
Before “Bull Believer,” Hartzman gave a short speech about her country and the purpose of the song's final cry, which she doesn't want to repeat about herself night after night. Instead, she dedicated it to families separated by ICE in Greensboro, North Carolina, and people in the Gaza Strip. Toward the end of the song, a circle formed in the middle of the crowd and several people knelt, raised their hands, and held hands in silent prayer.
Photo: Wednesday, Matt Forsythe
The song built and built on this long cry, a soaring cry of strength and resistance. Hartzman's body contorted from the roar, from each high-pitched screech as the pit crashed together, bodies colliding through the noise and crash. The night ended with the hardcore “Wasp” as the crowd erupted and the frontwoman screamed and fell to her knees as the band collapsed around her one last time before the inevitable finale.
There is strength and energy in the group, and this is undisguisedly present at the Wednesday show. There is joy throughout, even during the most heartbreaking songs – a jubilant response to pain and trauma. This is the best way to heal together and shake our heads. The environment gives people the opportunity to do this; it is catharsis personified.
