The Dears.

You think of them, you think of Montreal. At least I do. While living in Montreal in the early part of this century/millennium, I remember a time where I shared a cab with a guy who claimed to have been the former bass player for the band. I got up the next day and called all my music head buddies from my hometown of Scarborough, Ontario, to brag about it.

In retrospect, that was a stupid thing to do, but it was the early 2000s, the miraculous No Cities Left had just come out, and I was a Montrealer (and still am at heart). It was a big deal to me.

Since that record, the band has released three more: Gang Of Losers (which, if memory serves, was on the Polaris Prize shortlist), Missiles, and Degeneration Street. It's that last one I want to talk about for a moment.

I like writing. I like music. I like writing about music. But one of the reasons I'm less enamoured of the profession than I used to be is because of all the people out there who either can't write or who use their abilities to write garbage. I don't know what the band did to piss off a certain Pitchfork writer, but his whole review smacks of vendetta, and is unduly harsh. As In-Flight Safety's John Mullane said yesterday, while we were talking about this, "It's a Dears record. If it's not good it's a 6, not a 2.4."

I think that record critics, and critics in general, whether they're established or not, whether they write for blogs or broadsheets, need to take a moment to reflect on their own work every now and again. I myself do my best to give every record I review as much attention as I can so that I can create a critical statement that is artful, fair and coherent. Have I savaged records before? Absolutely. Was my savagery warranted? Most probably.

I know a lot of my friends/colleagues spend as much time with a record as I do, and treat the music with enough respect to be flat out honest about it while still showing some tact. But these days, it seems to be pretty common practice in the online world to either over-praise or maliciously lambaste art. It's either the best thing ever or something you shouldn't even deign to wipe your feet on. And that's really, really unfair. And, well, stupid.

Anyway, the whole point of this post is, well, The Dears.

The Dears were set to play the 11:00 p.m. slot yesterday evening at M For Montreal's official showcase (which was preceded by their annual poutine party). My friend Johnston Farrow (The Coast) and I were in attendance and, if when I go upstairs to brush my teeth (yes, I just got up -- don't judge) and my face is all gooey and distorted, I'll know why: The Dears were so goddamn good they melted my face.

Sure, there were some hiccups. Like 15 minutes before the show when I knocked over Natalia Yanchak's drink and was properly admonished, or how the set's start was delayed by some technical problems. But once the dust settled and everything was properly plugged in and set up, boy, did The Dears blow us away.

"We are The Dears, we are the legend," Murray Lightburn said in his beautiful hubris-courting voice, starting off the set.

Everything that followed is a blur -- and I was drinking water all night.

In describing The Dears to two friends of ours before their set, Farrow and I used words like "sad" and "majestic." Their set last night was far from sad, and majestic doesn't even seem to begin to describe how they soared above and simultaneously crushed the room.

This is a band that has played big, big rooms, and the place they played yesterday, Spill, was far from that. But to watch how Lightburn -- who did at least half of one song from various places in the middle of the crowd -- pushed every iota of his essence into his performance (a few hours short of his 40th birthday, no less), you'd think this was a band struggling to get heard, or signed. Or loved. My buddy Patrick Krief, too, was exceptional. In traditional Kriefian form, when he was called upon to bring some Guitar God to the proceedings, did he oblige. Which is not to take away from the other performers. Far from. These are just details that stick out in my mind most specifically because of where I was standing.

No disrespect to the recently departed, but the band is much, much better for bringing Krief, Rob Benvie and Roberto Arquila back into the fold.

And, if last night's performance was any indication, the new Dears, who are, essentially, the old Dears, aren't degenerating at all.