Singer-guitarist Becky Black, left, and drummer Maya Miller of Vancouver rock band the Pack A.D. (Mark Maryanovich/Mint Records)

Watching Vancouver duo the Pack A.D. play a recent gig in Toronto felt like being water-boarded by rock'n'roll in its purest form. A tangle of raw guitar runs and swampy riffs – equal parts Black Sabbath and murky blues ­– blasted from the speakers; between solos, the lead singer let out searing wails that sounded like they were steeped in Jack Daniels and tobacco.

What was really remarkable about the show was that nobody seemed to notice or care that the Pack A.D. is made up of two girls. The crowd was certainly not your typical chick-band demographic. And with one exception, the other acts on the bill weren't chosen because they were female fronted. It sounds silly, but gender often trumps genre when it comes to booking shows. For the Pack A.D. to headline a night like this was striking.

"The bills that we want to be on are just straightforward garage rock shows," says Becky Black, the surprisingly soft-spoken singer/guitarist for the Pack A.D., in a recent interview. "We don't even like being on a blues bill, 'cause we're not what blues fans expect. They always look confused when they see us onstage. Whenever it's loud, it's okay – the worst thing is when we get up there and people fumble to put their earplugs in. "

(Mint Records)

By its nature, rock'n'roll is not a ladylike pursuit. It's not just the performance aspect — aggressive and unapologetically sexual — that goes against conventional notions of femininity. It's the behind-the-scenes world, which doesn't mesh with how many people think of the fairer sex. Being in a touring rock band — especially in this vast nation — means wearing the same smoky, stained clothes for days and wallowing in the stickiness and stench of your own sweat because you have yet to crash somewhere with a shower. It means pounding back vile bar shots and shot-gunning beers till you can barely stand.

From Patti Smith to Chrissie Hynde, from PJ Harvey to Kathleen Hanna, there are hordes of women who've triumphed in the warts-and-all world of rock'n'roll. While Canada can come off as a rather polite country, we've produced our share of awe-inspiring female rockers. Most of them – Carole Pope, Lee Aaron, even Alannah Myles – reigned supreme in the '80s. Aside from the anthems of indignation on Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill, it's hard to think of an estrogen-driven Canrock outfit that's made a similar splash since.

That may be about to change. Along with the Pack A.D., who released the fantastic Funeral Mixtape in August, Montreal's Land of Talk are leading the vanguard of girl-centric guitar acts. Their respective aesthetics are markedly different, but these two bands are responsible for some of the finest straight-up rock music to come out of this country in ages.

Lizzie Powell, the singer and guitarist of Land of Talk, came of age in Guelph, Ont.'s tight-knit indie rock and hardcore scene. She was lucky – the critical consciousness that pervaded the college town's music community meant gender was never much of an issue.

Singer-guitarist Lizzie Powell of the band Land of Talk. (Bryan Bedder/Getty Images)

When I was 14, it was a beautiful time," Powell recalls. "I didn't even think of the politics of the scene or which gender was dominating, because everyone was so supportive." Her fascination with Guelph bands like Pussychute helped shelter Powell from the spate of milquetoast singer-songwriters who prevailed in the Lilith Fair era. She cites the emergence of Toronto new-wave darlings Metric as a turning point.

"I see [Metric frontperson] Emily Haines as a bit of a pioneer in that sense. I've been listening to her solo album a lot lately and thinking about her role in the Canadian rock scene," Powell says. "Not that I'd be cocky enough to consider her a contemporary or anything, but I remember the year [Metric's debut] Old World Underground, Where Are You Now? came out, listening to it over and over. It awoke something inside me.

"Even with her quieter solo stuff, [Haines] has these f---ing vocal lines that are so rock'n'roll. Sometimes she'll deliberately not hit a note. There's so much strength and courage there. It's so, uh…" Powell laughs, "balls-out. What's the female equivalent? The Fallopian stranglehold, maybe."

For a long time, the only way Powell could muster that stranglehold was by being deliberately un-pretty, harsh and loud. It wasn't without reason: after her punk rock days in Guelph, Powell fell in with some Svengali-like producers who tried to reinvent her as a loungey trip-hop waif. Powell moved to Montreal to study jazz, but dropped out. Land of Talk emerged after Powell reconnected with her love of noise. Listen to the group's first EP, Applause Cheer Boo Hiss (2006), and you'll hear dissonant melodies, guttural yowls and guitars cranked to 11. Powell's live performances are just as confrontational, radiating as much androgynous energy – and formidable guitar technique – as any in-your-face rocker dude.

Land of Talk's full-length debut album Some Are Lakes, which will be released Oct. 7, suggests that Powell has accepted the notion that you can temper your aggression with moments of sheer beauty. At times, the disc achieves that balance in the manner of classic Fleetwood Mac songs. Part of that, Powell claims, was coming to accept her voice.

(Saddle Creek)

"I'm a slow learner," she sighs. "I'm literally retarded in that sense – my reactions are so delayed. I think I've been betraying that [softer] part of me. I'm still guarded, but I'm feeling bolder in terms of how I present my ideas to the world. I don't feel like I have to cover it up and double the vocals. I'm getting more comfortable around what I felt were flaws.

"When I open my eyes and take my head out of my ass," she continues, "I realize that the artists I love, like Will Oldham and Neil Young, sometimes don't sing in tune over the course of a whole album."

Powell has hit on something. While listeners are frequently willing to accept less-than-perfect vocals from male singers, their female counterparts are held to a certain standard of prettiness, both vocally and aesthetically. It's another thing that can undermine a girl's confidence in fronting a rock band.

Black of the Pack A.D. says she used to sing a lot as a kid, but quit when she got older and her voice shifted. It took coaxing from bandmate Maya Miller to get Black back behind a mic. The Pack A.D. is frequently compared to the White Stripes, which may be a blessing in disguise – many new listeners won't make assumptions about the gender of the people behind the Pack's music.

"I don't know what difference gender makes," Black shrugs. "People might think it's really androgynous or something, but we're just playing music. We don't really fit in within the Vancouver scene – but that's partly because Vancouver is full of people with beards."

The Pack A.D. play Montreal on Oct. 3; Funeral Mixtape is in stores now. Land of Talk's Some Are Lakes is available now in digital form and will be in stores Oct. 7.

Sarah Liss writes about the arts for CBCNews.ca.