Toronto band Ohbijou is on the cusp. And front person, Casey Mejica, in explaining the preparation going into their soon-to-be-released third album, Metal Meets, seems to know it.

“I hope so,” says Mejica, of the band’s imminent breakthrough. “We’ve been around for a while, and we definitely put a really conscious and dedicated effort into it.”

Mejica and company are pulling out all the stops: including the addition of new musical layers and textures to their sparse and hypnotic music, expanding the songwriting duties to members not named Mejica and squirrelling themselves away in a small town on Georgian Bay for intensive writing sessions.

The impressive result sees the band ratchet up their carefully crafted sound while at the same time managing to cling to the emotionally engaging lyrics delivered by the wispy-voiced chanteuse, Mejica, that drove fans to Ohbijou thus far.

“It all happened pretty organically,” says Mejica, on the patio of the St. Lawrence Market in her newly adopted ’hood. “We really wanted to feel the growth of our songs.”

Helping in that development was producer Jace Lasek, of Montreal band the Besnard Lakes, whose technical wizardry, according to Mejica, helped “push the project as far as it could go.”

Ohbijou evolved from Brantford-native Mejica’s solo work back in 2004, first adding her sister Jennifer to the mix, followed by a full roster of musicians: Heather Kirby, James Bunton, Anissa Hart, Ryan Carley and Andrew Kinoshita.

On Metal Meets, Mejica relinquishes some creative control as other band members step up and pen tunes for the album, and her sister sings lead.

“We wanted to do everything we could to breathe new life into the project and into our performances as well,” Mejica says. “And I am in no way possessive over writing,” she adds with a laugh.

Similar to past Ohbijou efforts is the exploration of love and the collision of emotions. Mejica says she’s always trying to find new and often unconventional ways to describe the age-old theme. “I think it is important to convey an honesty that an audience can relate to,” says Mejica, who was inspired after reading works by Anne Carson and Toronto writer Dionne Brand.

Mejica is also fuelled by politics, and one early morning while on hiatus in Berlin, she found herself glued to her computer monitor watching the all-night deputations session at Toronto’s City Hall.

“I said, ‘This is it, I’m not jumping ship,’ ” she explains. “That really fuelled my desire to stay committed to the arts community in Toronto.”

After taking the better part of a year off of touring, in July, Ohbijou played their first show in Ottawa. And they have a packed tour schedule this fall. Metal Meets is set for release Sept. 27. The band plays in Toronto at Trinity St. Paul’s United Church on Sept. 30. Go to www.ohbijou.com for further tour details.

With the 8th annual The Beach Celtic Festival happening at Kew Gardens this weekend, everyone will be asking one question: “what’s worn under your kilt?” The answer, of course, is “nothing,” but seriously, what’s up with the kilt? Here’s an explanation of how the traditional attire of Scotland — now catching on around the world — is more than just a plaid skirt for men.

What:
The original “great kilt” was simply a huge piece of cloth; about five meters long. You would pleat half of it, roll up in it and wrap the other half around like a plaid toga. At night, it served as a blanket (meaning half as much laundry to wash, for those who bothered).

In 1746, King George II outlawed the kilt, because any man crazy enough to dress like that was bound to cause trouble. King George III made it legal again, but let’s remember that he was crazy. Queen Victoria had a Scottish fetish, and kilts have been in ever since.

The “traditional modern” kilt is short (let’s see some knee, gentlemen) and tidy, with shiny buckles here and there.

The “contemporary kilt” has traded in the tartan for pockets; it’s more like a pair of cargo pants than Highland dress.

Who:
Most kilts you see these days are worn by girls doing Highland dancing — as you will see at the Celtic Festival this weekend — but once upon a time, kilts were worn by men going into battle (after chasing down a few sheep to collect wool, of course, to make the kilts).

Why:
To save money, Scots didn’t bother with underwear or tailors or even buttons. They just took a big piece of cloth and wrapped it around themselves.

When and where:
Specific tartan patterns are designated for different clans (Mackay, MacAndrews, etc.) and, these days, the kilt is most often worn for celebrations and formal occasions, but thanks to the madness of George III, the kilt can be worn anywhere, anytime, by anyone.

Accessories and pronunciation guide:
The sporran (as in, “He’s pourin’ whiskey!”), is the man-purse to go with the man-skirt. Traditionally used to carry oats for lunch, it now conveniently holds a cell phone, keys and superfluous undergarments (which are good to have on hand in case a cold wind blows away your pride).

The sgian dubh (pronounced “ski an’ do”) is the “black knife,” hidden from the authorities but worn visible in the sock when amongst friends.

The kilt pin (pronounced “kilt pin”) weighs down the corner of the kilt to protect Gus from gusts and to avoid those Marilyn Monroe moments.

Flashes (it’s not what you think) are the fabric wrapped around the knee to hold up the socks and the sgian dubh.

The Beach Celtic Festival, Kew Gardens, Sept. 10-11