Once a two-person basement recording project, Broken Social Scene came to life onstage as a shadowy improvisational entity with a revolving-door roster, each concert a wholly unique experience dependent on the room, the weather, what they ate for dinner that night, and who was dropping in to play. Is it a collective? Certainly, it can seem that way when you see some 15 people crowding the stage, but BSS aren’t so much a united front as a perpetually mutating aggregate of competing creative energies. Is it a cult? Nah-some of them have the beards, but they could never agree on the right robes. Bands tend to have defined memberships and aesthetics and goals Broken Social Scene have never been bothered with such limitations. It’s hard to know what to make of an ongoing experiment like Broken Social Scene. Quite the opposite: Since debuting in 2001, Broken Social Scene have personified the unyielding, incomparable power of IRL human connection.
But this social network didn’t require you to stay glued to your smartphone to take part in it.
And yes, occasionally, it became a forum for arguments and oversharing. It became a place where they could live out their best lives or fret about the fragile state of the world.
Like other such networks you’re familiar with, it quickly expanded to include friends, and friends of friends. At the dawn of the 21st-century, just as the internet began infecting every aspect of our daily lives, Toronto musicians Kevin Drew and Brendan Canning began building a social network of their own.
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