The Petty Larceneers + Kasey Suchowersky

It began as a father's love for his child. In 2019, Arts Place manager Jeremy sought a gig for his son's touring punk band. He contacted Rafi—local sound engineer, musician, and a legendary figure in Banff's cultural underbelly, who in turn contacted Kasey - a restaurant worker by day, punk architect by night. "Rafi suggested we make it bigger," Kasey recalled. "I said: let's find six bands. Then we found ten." And that's how Ampfest began. "The town's not built for it. But we did it anyway."

Kasey has been promoting shows since 2013 - metal nights in dying nightclubs and punk lineups in sandwich shops. "When I started promoting, my posters got vandalized. Some people thought metal was satanic. Now we sell out shows." Over the years, as venue after venue disappeared — the Hoodoo, Wild Bill's, Sasquatch - he kept booking. "We've built a scene here. This year's Ampfest had the best attendance yet. That says something." At the core of Ampfest is a kind of defiant inclusion. "This is for the weirdos," Kasey said. "The ones who don't see themselves in folk bands or coffee shop gigs. This is their place."

Here's a strict no-asshole policy. "People think mosh pits are violent. But if someone falls, we pick them up. If someone's a dick, they get pulled out." For Kasey, it's about energy — not aggression. "It's catharsis. It's releasing negative energy in a positive way. It's community, not chaos."

This year's lineup included the Petty Larceneers, a Calgary-based ska-punk outfit whose sound is as brash as their politics. Formed by friends who wanted to scream, their sets channel frustration into something volatile, specific, and occasionally ridiculous. "Petty larceny is the dumb shit we probably all did when we were kids," said Ben. "And now it's the dumb shit that we play music to. It's ska-punk, but very British," he added. "A bit of dub and reggae too. A little shit like ska-core. Just punk in general." Their politics aren't buried in metaphor. "Let me do what I want with my body," said Ella. "What you do with yours is none of my fucking business."

"This music is about gender aggression," said Rebecca. "About fighting back. About not being polite anymore." One of their songs, Blues Clueless, takes aim at the performative masculinity of podcast culture. "We wrote it to poke fun at the alpha-dog podcast bro," said Ella. "It's funny watching that kind of man crumble." Jamie, their drummer, put it more bluntly: "We're not mad at Joe Rogan. We're mad at the guy who listens to him and thinks that makes him the main character." Much of their writing draws from lived frustration - especially around housing and class. "Canmore is suffering a housing crisis thanks to rich assholes buying properties to impress their mistresses," said Ben. "Meanwhile, my friends are getting pushed out. That's what our songs are about."

Their performance at Ampfest was raw and joyful - a tight, frantic set that leaned into absurdity without losing the edge. They played like they were trying to shake something loose. And in the crowd, among the sweat and static, that same defiance held. It's not just noise. It's a refusal.

Go give the band a listen and follow them on Insta.