Woah! Two days in a row of seeing previously unheard-of bands and being totally mind-blown. In fact, day 2's surprise by Semi Precious Weapons proved ever bigger and better...and way gayer.

The night started out iffy, though. An early gig by the alt-rock™ Junior Pantherz of Saskatoon, who have apparently opened for the likes of the Pixies, was as bland as the lead singer's white t-shirt. So we jaunted down the road to the Velvet Underground to see Semi Precious Weapons, but the sked was behind and we were subjected to lame local band The State of Things, boasting a chest-baring rawk'n'roll bassist (who needs a new band if he hopes to land the groupies he clearly believes he deserves) but no decent songs. Bored, we contemplated bailing for another bar, but the skies fortuitously opened up and kept us put. I say fortuitously because I doubt I'll see a band as blissfully and sleazily over-the-top as Brooklyn's Semi Precious Weapons, fronted by "six-foot bisexual" Justin Tranter, who's in the running for one of the funnest lead singers I've ever seen.

More after the jump...

Screaming "Louder b*tches!" Tranter drove the crowd insane. Eventually one girl flashed her boobs, another groped his spandex-clad crotch and a third made out with him for like, 30, seconds while the crowd hooted, hollered and sang lustily along. The rest of the time the white-blond singer preened on the speaker stacks; crooned dirty-minded power ballads; hollered boogie-woogie throwdowns; and sang one particularly blasphemous tune about having sex with Jesus while his bass player spazzed out and his guitarist made ridiculous "o" faces while pummeling us with mammoth riffs.

Since it wasn't going to get any bigger than that, it was off to see Vancouver blues-rock all-girl duo The Pack AD who blasted out an unexpectedly authentic and riveting sound that practically puts The White Stripes to shame. It helps to have an actual drummer, Maya Miller, on the skins, but singer/guitarist Becky Black is a visceral force, shredding her axe and her throat.

The night ended on a bit of a downer, not due to a bad show but because former funnyman rapper D-Sisive has returned from several years away from the scene with a collection of suicidal-sounding hip-hop. He may still refer to himself as a "middle-class fat kid in glasses, but his dark raps recount recent personal tragedies, including the death of his father and his subsequent dire depression.

There was one funky, comedic jam ("This Is What It Sounds Like When White Boys Listen To Hip-hop") and an adroit Simpsons reference ("you can't make friends with salad, anyway") but mostly D-Siggy delivered a jet-black set that sent us home impressed, if somewhat saddened.