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The May 2-4 weekend has come and gone. Okay, solipsistically speaking, it maybe just seemed momentous because I celebrated my birthday. Thanks to everyone who made it extra special. (Ever get the feeling you write on the Internet too much? I just had to fight the compulsion to type a smiley face. Help!) Also, the federal election was finally called. Those bleedin' Liberals sure know how to wreck a party weekend. But another highlight was finally getting to see The Ex again, for the first time in 13 years.

Numerologically, this is interesting, because I just turned 31. Now, I ain't gonna go off on some youth-columnist handwringing-fest about how 'œturning 30 isn't so bad, it's 31 that's the real downer because now you're just in your 30s.'? C'mon, did you really think that? Or did someone tell you that's how you're supposed to feel? Why is it a categorical imperative to get depressed about getting older? 31 is great because now I can go to parties and brag about all the great shows I got to see in the early '90s golden age. NoMeansNo were one of my favourite bands when I was 18 (and still are), and I'd been waiting 18 months for them to come back and play the Rivoli again. The opening acts were this band from Holland I knew nothing about, and some local band called Phleg Camp (who were in their pre-awesome, funky dreadlocked phase, yet still great). The Ex blew me away with this really ominous, grey-sounding post-punk, and I have fond memories of the female drummer (a phenomenon I'd never seen before) beaming through the whole show, and the bassist attacking his instrument while sitting on the floor.

For some reason, I never got around to tracking their records down until much later, and I totally flaked on seeing them again '“ I'm still kicking myself for missing them with late cellist Tom Cora; almost as much as I am for not going to Kraftwerk last month (some serious malfunction occurred with this robot). Now that The Ex have been around for 25 years (older than the average age of a Wavelength regular), and have graduated into the upper echelons of the post-punk canon, expectations were high for their first T.O. show in a decade. And The Ex had it especially tough, considering they had to follow a dynamite free-jazz set by Toronto saxman Brodie West and Dutch drummer Han Bennink. It was pure musical joy to watch 60-something Bennink fearlessly demolish the kit with his ever-shifting rhythm train, as well as perform a drumstick solo with one in his mouth, and carry his snare to the centre of Lee's Palace for a solo.

What's interesting about The Ex is their near-total anonymity. Their individualities are submerged into this truly collective identity. I usually like to get know something about the personalities of musicians I look up to, but for 13 years all I've known about them is their music and my vague recollection of what they look like. Now that we have the Internet, I know their drummer is named Katherina, and that vocalist G.W. Sok and guitarist Terrie are the only founding members left. As for the show, he and fellow axe-man Andy Moor stole it, from my vantage point. They proved how much you can do with so little. The pair would pluck out simple, minimalist patterns on these ancient, rusted-out electrical machines, then suddenly lunge at one other as if they were about to lock horns, stopping just in time to unleash explosions of noise and fractured harmonics.

The Ex wield their instruments like tools of the proletariat -- as befits a crew that started out in anarchist squats -- and this is true even when they have killer chops like double-bassist and new member Rozemarie. The African-informed rhythms she and Katherina lay down are relentless and irresistable, and rhythm is what drives The Ex, more so than songs. And this is maybe why, as great as they are, they aren't quite as canonical as others from the same genre/era -- Gang of Four, Mission of Burma, Sonic Youth, Fugazi. Whether that matters is another debate altogether, though. All I know isn't I hadn't danced that hard since Ultra Magnus at the WL 200 (blatant plug for our fundraising party, I know).

Speaking of Burma, hearing their new album just days before seeing The Ex made me realize: some of the most powerful rock'n'roll on the planet is being made by folks pushing 50. And still pushing parameters. Age and experience count for so much more than you could imagine. 'œNever trust anymore under 30,'? I say -- unless they rock as hard as a grizzled oldster.

P.S. That doesn't mean it's okay for 47-year-old politicians to sing 'œRockin' in the Free World'? with The Constantines. All is forgiven though, Jack, you still get my vote. Social democracy forever!