If the principles of basic biology gave way to magic for a mythical moment in the early eighties and allowed the oft-imagined love triangle between Sam and Dave and Joe Strummer to bear fruit in the form of musical septuplets, their offspring would look and sound a lot like the Ballantynes.
Since forming in Vancouver just one short year ago, The Ballantynes quickly set to work recording a self-titled 7″ for local label, La Ti Da Records, and playing in various venues across the West Coast to a growing legion of faithful fans. The band’s fan base is a multifarious composite of hard-core punks, old soul lovers, dance-aholics and soccer moms. Lead singer, Jarrod O’Dell, explains:
“Vancouver’s probably a lot like VIctoria in that we don’t have too many venues. What ends up happening… and it’s kinda like a happy accident… what ends up happening is that you get these seemingly strange mixes of scenes. On any given night, you might get some indie band on the same bill as a hardcore punk band, and a country western band, or maybe a soul band; worlds collide, and it’s pretty neat to see what happens. Most of the time it’s great!”
The Ballantynes’ diverse following is a testament to the plethora of elements at play in the beautiful menagerie of influences dancing upon the complex web of their sound. Summoning the spirits of many, yet imitating nobody, the band’s overlying thesis is deceivingly simple: shake your ass and have some fun.
Set to make their Victorian debut this Saturday night, it is obvious that the Ballantyne’s plan to conquer. The festivities begin at Club 919 where, armed with a Hammond Organ, a wealth of tambourines and other assorted instruments, the band will headline their inaugural Victorian show, supported by local darlings The Chantrelles. The party will then stumble up Broughton street to Smith’s Pub, where the band will vie for a coveted spot behind a needle.
So rest up, Victoria. Forgo your best laid Friday night plans, and eat a big ol’ breakfast on Saturday morning. The Ballantynes settle for nothing short of several litres of sweat upon 919’s lit up dance floor. They’re gonna bring it; you should too.