Maybe it’s Time for Canada (or live music for a post-election world) Apostle of Hustle at Tonic By Cara N. Cibener Photographed by Evan Sung
Apostle of Hustle

Apostle of Hustle are loved and lovely. The crowd at Tonic waited in the cave like venue for their sparks of light to fly, Canadian sparks of light. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could make them out, the fans that is, good folks with post graduate degrees, smart looking outfits, thoughts on god and relationships and the state of our failing Union. I could hear them talking. And I needed to look because, well, I had no idea what to expect, being new to “Apostle” (as one enthusiastic young man called out from the silence) and only being vaguely aware of Mr. Whiteman’s other band Broken Social Scene. But when the music from their debut album “Folkloric Feel” started we all nodded our heads and looked on for some hope in a dark time.

Andrew Whiteman

With the lead singer, Andrew Whiteman rocking like a real rock star, jumping and swaying his hips and thanking the crowd in a many languages and giving props to musicians who had graced that very stage, we knew Apostle of Hustle where working hard for us. I felt secure, held upright in the darkened venue by drummer Dean Stone’s powerful beats. And meanwhile, the hands of multi-instrumentalist Julian Brown flew so fast on his key board they seemed nothing but an impassioned blur under the stage lights. The guy next to me saw it too and he nudged his companions to take a look -- there was something happening here.

This trio is true musicians, to be sure. They create a sturdy, full and confidant sound even if, yes, the sound is all over the place. A little rock, a little pop a little world beat, but I was happy. I was forgetting myself. Each song put something in the air that seemed a little like a memory, something nostalgic. In the moments between songs old-fashioned French sounding music came tinkling through the speakers. There were Latin moments and straight up college rock moments. For the first time in weeks I found myself asking happily, “where am I?” and wanting to stay in a state of not knowing.

The good vibes transmitted downstairs, where an equally dark Sub Tonic was stirring a real live disco party. Strangers smiled and waved their arms and skipped around with the happy abandon of goofy teenagers at a basement party. It was bright that night, I tell you.

After their set, Apostle of Hustle convened in what appeared to be a loving huddle at the base of the stage as the audience crooned “one more!” for it had all ended too soon. The band however, was polite (as the Canadian cliché goes) and did not take a stage. But it was not to be; another band was on their way. “We still love you,” called the fans “and we still love you,” said Whiteman. And I believe he meant it.