I used to think being a music journalist meant being a cross between an anthropologist and a private eye. Before going to a show or listening to a new album, I’d spend days researching the band. I’d obsess over influences and try to decode the musical DNA. I’d take deep dives into the home scene, be it Chapel Hill, N.C.; Los Angeles; or the Azawagh desert in Niger. I’d even sully myself and delve into social media and Reddit threads — which may or may not have been a habit I developed after one too many bands got canceled after I was preparing to write about them.
That rigorous preparation felt like something the profession deserved, even as the profession seemed to be fading away. I’ll admit I was momentarily taken aback when Pitchfork got folded into GQ a few months ago, but there was also a dreadful inevitability to it, like watching a wrestler with a folding chair getting ready to hit his opponent in the back. Rob Harvilla, the former Village Voice music editor and now a senior staff writer at pop culture site the Ringer, recently declared that “journalism is collapsing” on his podcast “60 Songs That Explain the ’90s.” Instead of doing a spit take in my kitchen or shouting out an ironclad denial, I just shrugged, lowered my head like Charlie Brown and mumbled, “Shaddup, Rob” under my breath.
I have no clue if he was being dramatic or prophetic. But I do know that being a music journalist has felt increasingly dystopian over the past few years. Which is weird, because I’ve been wearing less leather, if anything. Also, I haven’t seen a mohawk in this town since 2022, but I’m digressing. My point is, I don’t know if Rob is right and journalism is collapsing, but it sure as hell is changing.
And as the nature of covering music has changed, so has my approach. Don’t get me wrong — I still obsess and research bands. Most music journos I know were doing that long before they started writing about it. But I’ve learned to allow myself to be more and more surprised these days.
It’s a habit Montréal taught me. I’ve been heading north to visit our friendly Canadian neighbors and their vibrant music scene since I moved to Vermont in 2001. That in no way makes me an expert — in fact, I used to never, ever go to the City of Saints without a very clear road map. But by 2022, I was loosening up when it came to shows in Montréal, and I was immediately rewarded for indulging my curiosity.
That April, locals at a record store highly encouraged me to see a band called TEKE::TEKE at Théâtre Fairmount. I meant to ask them what the band was like, but suddenly we were at a bar and they were buying me a drink and offering me a hit of hash because they’re Canadian and aggressively friendly and cool. Next thing I knew, we were in a cab headed for the theater.
I walked in a few songs into the band’s set, which could only be described as the kind of awesome that makes you want to buy an overpriced T-shirt and wear it the next day at work so someone has to ask you, “Who’s that band? Never heard of them.” Goddamn right, you haven’t.
As the seven-piece band launched into an explosion of punk-infused surf rock, featuring trombone, lilting flute, harmonized electric guitars and the glorious singing/shrieking of singer Maya Kuroki, I was utterly transfixed. I’d never seen or heard a band like TEKE::TEKE. I vividly recall turning to one of my new friends and shouting something to the tune of “How the fuck did this band happen?”
“Well, it’s funny, but we weren’t really supposed to be anything other than a one-off,” Sei Nakauchi Pelletier, guitarist and founder of TEKE::TEKE, told me in a recent phone call. I called Pelletier after noticing (with a fist pump in the air) that the band is swinging through South Burlington for a show at the Higher Ground Showcase Lounge on Tuesday, April 2, touring on the back of its excellent new record, Hagata.
“It all started back in 2017 at a tribute concert for Takeshi Terauchi,” Pelletier said, referring to the legendary Japanese surf-rock guitarist. Terauchi, who died at the age of 82 in 2021, was known for bringing a more ragged edge to surf rock. Increasingly influenced by Terauchi’s playing, Pelletier wanted to put together a band to perform his hero’s music.
“We got together to play his songs, but we brought our own energy and a modern twist to it,” he said. “And the sound that came out of that encouraged us to keep going and start writing our own music.”
In 2021, the band released its debut, Shirushi, which was long-listed for the 2021 Polaris Music Prize and won “Album of the Year — Other languages” at the 44th ADISQ gala in Québec. Amid the success, the band grew beyond its roots as a tribute act.
“At first, I wrote everything, and the band was my idea,” Pelletier explained. “But as we kept going and writing, everyone else’s influences started to mix in and these really interesting things started to happen.”
Trombonist Étienne Lebel brought a love for Hungarian music. Guitarist Hidetaka Yoneyama played Brazilian music before joining TEKE::TEKE. More and more ingredients were added to the mix, and by the time the band released Hagata in 2023 — a unique, mesmerizing blend of surf, punk, Afrobeat, art-rock and even pop — it had become something Pelletier never could have predicted.
“It’s just been a blessing, as we truly had no expectations past that first night,” Pelletier said. “But we knew we wanted to evolve. We wanted to use space more on the new record and explore the band’s dynamics.”
That space is felt on “Jinzou Maria,” a haunting piece that dips in and out of jazz and a sort of spaghetti Western grandeur. I’m honestly not sure if another band on the planet could have written such a song.
The same could be said of TEKE::TEKE’s latest single, “Bankrobber,” which dropped in February. The music is endlessly cinematic and surprising; TEKE::TEKE never seem to go where you expect them to. Their sound speaks to the power of musical diversity, something the band shares with the music scene that launched them, according to Pelletier.
“The scene in Montréal is a really good community,” he said. “Everyone is friends, and there’s no kind of competition or anything like that. The bands help each other.
“And it’s always been really strong — I saw so much great music here growing up,” he went on. “I do think it’s gotten more diverse over the years. There’s just so much good stuff being mixed in now.”
There’s no better example than TEKE::TEKE’s genre-busting excellence. But, as LeVar Burton famously said, don’t take my word for it. Speaking as someone who used to be afraid to go to a show without listening to at least half of the band’s catalog first, I urge you to do yourself a favor and just go see this band.
This article appears in The Money & Retirement Issue 2024.
Got something to say?
Send a letter to the editor and we'll publish your feedback in print!
