Local Stage, Canadian Icons: July Talk
Live at the Grand Theatre, February 27, 2026
I’ve loved July Talk for ages. Their songs are the perfect mix of grit and beauty. I never get tired of them. I know the lyrics, the riffs, and exactly how loud I need to sing to annoy my neighbours.
The last time they rolled through the area, they played MacKinnon Brothers Brewing Company and I managed to snag a front-row spot, which has remained firmly lodged in my Top Three Concerts Ever (a ranking system I update with the seriousness of a Supreme Court justice). Outdoor venues… when the weather cooperates and Canada briefly remembers it’s capable of joy… are my absolute favourite, so that night was always going to be tough to beat.
Still, when tickets for the Grand Theatre appeared, I bought them with the speed and financial recklessness of someone who considers live music a personality trait. There’s something about the Grand that makes the whole evening feel suspiciously classy, like I should arrive wearing opera gloves instead of a band tee I’ve owned since 2009. I immediately spread the word, and a few friends secured tickets too, partly for the music and partly because we all needed a lifeline to cling to while trudging through the frozen, slush-coloured purgatory otherwise known as late February. If nothing else, this show became our collective light at the end of winter’s very long, very icy tunnel.
Adding an extra layer of excitement to the whole affair, the band happened to be in town for the Kingston Canadian Film Festival, where they were promoting a pair of projects that proved they’re just as compelling on screen as they are onstage. These included the rom-com MIDDLE LIFE, starring July Talk’s Peter Dreimanis and Leah Fay alongside Luke Lalonde of Born Ruffians, plus the Born Ruffians short film Beauty’s Pride, which Pete produced and Leah handled set design for. Honestly, it feels unfair that one group of people is allowed to be this talented across multiple art forms, but I suppose we’ll allow it.
When I bought tickets, I apparently went into autopilot and chose seats almost identical to where I stood at the MacKinnon Bros show, directly in front of guitarist Ian Docherty. At this point I can only conclude my subconscious is secretly smitten with him and is now handling all future ticket purchases without my consent. I respect her initiative.
Before the man I’ve appointed as my emotional support musician took the stage, Born Ruffians from Midland, Ontario opened the night. They were a trip in the best possible way. It was my first time seeing them live, and from the comfort of my seat I felt like I was time travelling through several indie eras at once.
I’ll admit, I had mixed feelings about seated tickets. I normally treat concerts as a cardio event. If it’s a band I love, my body simply refuses to remain still, like a golden retriever who just heard the word “park.” Sitting felt unnatural at first, like being told to “heel” while every squirrel in the neighbourhood paraded by. Every fiber of me wanted to leap, spin, and chase the music.
But here’s the thing, we’re Canadians. Sitting politely at concerts is basically in the citizenship test. We refuse to block anyone’s view, apologize when someone steps on our foot, and would rather suffer in silence than risk being perceived as mildly inconvenient. Also… it had been a long week. I was tired. I was surprisingly okay with letting Born Ruffians entertain me while I rested my aging concert bones like a Victorian woman with delicate sensibilities.
At one point I laughed because the whole experience felt weirdly self-indulgent, like I was receiving a very wholesome, musically talented lap dance. Bassist Mitch DeRosier was doing an impressive amount of gyrating, which did not help the “private concert for me” illusion.
Drummer Steve Hamelin was rock solid, while lead singer Luke Lalonde’s voice had a warmth and clarity that carried beautifully over the whole band. Maddy WIlde on keys, guitar, and vocals had dance moves hypnotic enough that I briefly wondered if I was being subtly recruited into something.
One song genuinely made me think, “this is what an alien abduction would sound like if it had a soundtrack,” which is not a normal thought, but here we are. I’ll partly blame the lighting and the stellar dance moves.
By the time July Talk came on, the feral little concert goblin inside me had been rattling the cage for a full hour. And apparently we’re not all overly polite Canadians, because a few rows ahead of me I witnessed a full-blown verbal showdown that suggested someone had, in fact, blocked someone else’s view and civilization was crumbling as a result. But then Peter told everyone to stand up, and suddenly we were free. The animals rejoiced. The zoomies commenced. I rocked out like someone who had just been granted parole.
Then he told us to sit back down, which I also obeyed immediately because apparently I like authority when it comes with a microphone. Inside, my inner concert dog whined and tried to chase its own tail, but I sat anyway, for the humans around me and maybe for the good of civilization. It was actually perfect. He let the chaos breathe for a bit, then restored order for the people who wanted to keep their dignity intact. Very Canadian of him.
Leah and Peter together are just electric. Watching them perform gives me that same weirdly emotional joy I used to feel watching Gord Downie command a stage. Completely different artists, same spellbinding effect where you forget to blink.
The theatre setting turned out to be a perfect match. The lighting, the dramatic backdrop, the whole artsy atmosphere made it feel like one of their music videos had come to life around us. Since they were in town for the film festival, it felt especially fitting, like we were part of some beautifully loud cinematic experience instead of just a Friday night.
They played several of my favourites, including “Push + Pull” and “Paper Girl,” plus a bunch of others that I also claim as favourites because at this point it’s easier to admit I love everything they do. When you’ve got six people on stage creating that much controlled chaos, it feels less like a concert and more like being inside a very cool storm.
Another unexpected bonus of the venue was the stealth exit. The Grand Theatre sits behind Zap facing Princess Street, with a back-alley door directly across from the Chown Memorial parking garage, which meant we executed the cleanest post-concert getaway of all time. No traffic jams, no slow shuffle with the crowd, just a swift escape like we were fleeing a glamorous heist.
When I got home, I realized the photos I took were a bit wonky. At first I was bummed, then I realized bad concert photos are actually a badge of honour. It means I was too busy living in the moment to document it properly. Also, I never want to be “that person” holding a phone above everyone’s heads for the whole show. I come from a time when smartphones didn’t exist and we left photography to the pros while actually enjoying the concert. Still, my bad photos have become a little trophy collection of all the shows I’ve been to, so I try to snap a few ultra-quick shots while keeping my phone directly in front of my face… minimal distraction, maximum stealth.
If I’m being honest, the MacKinnon Bros show still holds it’s spot in my top three. The outdoor chaos wins for the feral concert animal in me who wants to howl at the sky and spill a drink on her shoes. I require roaming privileges. But the Grand Theatre gave me something equally memorable in a completely opposite way. It felt intimate and dramatic, almost like watching a live art installation that also happened to rock extremely hard. I sat there in a seat my subconscious chose for reasons that science might classify as hormonally influenced, watching a band I love do what they do best, and remembered exactly why I’ve been listening to them for so long.
For a couple of hours, life paused. I wasn’t someone juggling responsibilities or mentally planning tomorrow. I didn’t have to be anything except a person in a room full of people who loved the same sound as much as I did. That kind of escape is hard to beat. It’s the emotional equivalent of shaking a snow globe and watching everything settle again.
Cheers to Born Ruffians and July Talk for snatching up Kingston’s late-February snow globe, shaking it like they meant it, and leaving the rest of us spinning inside it just long enough to feel alive again.
-Written by Kait Tucker (@that.mother.tucker), briefly domesticated for theatre seating.
Related albums we’ve got in the shop right now:
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