Is it too early to declare 2005 the year of Arts&Crafts? I suppose that Stylus’ 2004 judgment of Merge as the top label occurred around this time. Besides, for all I know, the rest of Stylus may disagree with my particular choice, coming out with a top five list that doesn’t have A&C anywhere near it. However, as far as this writer is concerned, the kings and queens of Canadian indie (and, by extension, the entire twisted scene) are the incestuous compatriots of Broken Social Scene. And I’m not likely to change my mind in the next month.

I recently saw Broken Social Scene and Feist at the Showbox here in Seattle, and I was blown away, to say the least. Despite a rash of technical problems, resulting in a very miffed Feist, the eventual image of sixteen people on stage, crooning a ten-minute epic in unison was, to say the very least, a spiritual experience. People talk about the amazing transcendent power of live music, and although I never really doubted them, the show certainly allowed me to identify powerfully with that particular assessment. Suffice to say, it was an excellent show.

I did, however, have one problem: the notable disappearance of labelmates The Most Serene Republic. The group sadly had to cancel without offering an explanation; the crowd seemed more annoyed at the wait than saddened, but I for one had been anticipating their set. Touted as the first band on A&C not tangled up with Broken Social Scene, Underwater Cinematographer is a promising debut. Soaring somewhere in the spaced-out fuzz of Flaming Lips territory, TMSR delivers strong cuts, like the oddly-named “Where Cedar Nouns and Adverbs Walk” (In a way, they seem like Broken Social Scene’s nerdy cousins, dabbling in semi-pretentious song titles and complicated metaphors). There’s a subtle quiet build of an intro, and then instantly and without warning we are hit with an impossibly-fast synth drum beat. Adrian Jewett’s subdued tenor cuts in with optimistic, oddly grammatical lyrics, most of which are inaudible. I can make out snatches like, “our last words, every vowel and phrase, make it better than before.” The song evolves, adding layer upon layer of distorted keyboard, Of course, the best part is the riotous chorus near the end, where a collection of voices starts chanting, “I think we all know the words.” While the song fades away, the chant grows louder and louder, until there is only that one line, emphatically and almost atonally driven into the listener’s skull. It’s a powerful moment for one as concerned with the art of words as I am, and there’s a writerly kinship there I felt, from one young, hopeful wordsmith to another.

And I didn’t get to see them.

Meanwhile, across town, the same night that I was drooling over the sublime sounds of Broken Social Scene, A&C distribution-deal holder Sally Seltmann is opening up for Ben Lee at Chop Suey, another local club. Performing under the moniker New Buffalo, she’s another worthy addition to the Canadian lineup, despite hailing from Melbourne. She’s opened for Cat Power and Mount Eerie, and sounds perfect for the job. She’s got a subdued, jazzy feel to her arrangements that create a perfect lounge atmosphere, the kind of performance where you imagine her draped across a candlelit piano in a clingy velvet dress, boldly looking straight into your eyes while she croons. The last song on her latest album, The Last Beautiful Day, “On Sunday,” is exactly what she’d be singing in that situation. There’s an anachronistic horn part and an upright bass plucked quietly in the background. Seltmann’s crisp, confident voice glides in, delivering lines like “how about we have a little action,” with the alluring charm of a nightclub siren. She relates a narrative of a young actress, seducing her leading man with an innocent flair. It feels like old Hollywood, and it’s sexy as all hell. The entire ethos of New Buffalo seems to be a balance between innocent affirmations of love and the conflicted desire to draw that love into the bedroom.

Hm. That one almost got away from me for a second. Seltmann is married. And lives on the other side of the world. Need to remind myself of that on occasion.

There are plenty of other fantastic contributions to the A&C lineup. It’s been a banner year. Set Yourself on Fire. Broken Social Scene. Set Free. Let It Die (which I’m pretty sure was a 2005 release in the U.S., so lucky me, I get to count it towards the label’s domination). But sometimes it’s nice to look at the lesser-known comrades, the ones who maybe don’t headline shows (or, occasionally, even show up). It’s the quiet little victories, after all, that add up.

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