![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
leahbobetVery briefly, this is a Sloan concert report.
Look! See? It's Sloan.
This fine evening, Dr. My Roommate and I went to the Mod Club to see Sloan (Sloan!). We have seen Sloan before, most recently last summer at Dundas Square, but that was a free set and short and tiny, and sometimes a band's playing and you've liked them since you were fourteen and you really just don't say no.
Clearly other people felt that way too, because it was sold out. I have never seen so many people in that room. And this was the second show of a two-night run.
We got there just as the opener was playing their last five bars or so (good timing! We are bad people who skip opening bands!) and they played for about an hour and a half: a lot of the new stuff and a lot of the faster, heavier, headbangy stuff. Unlike at the Rusty show, the people who go to see Sloan (or at least the people who work their way into the front, like we did) went to Nineties Concert Finishing School and are headbangers of quality.
Piratical drums.
We danced. A lot. And got enough of the old stuff salted into the main set to keep the energy moving: Coax Me, and Everything You've Done Wrong, and The Good in Everyone, and Losing California. The encore was fabulous: People of the Sky, Lines You Amend, and Money City Maniacs, in that order. Chris Murphy kept getting the audience to sing full verses and/or the backup on the hit songs. It is deeply satisfying to have a band onstage that encourages my tendency to sing the set back to the band.
The thing with bands that have been around since I was fourteen, and which I have loved since I was fourteen, is that after seeing them a couple times over the years there's a bit of a sense of relationship: you see people change as you change. And you see how people are the same. Chris Murphy is still kind of goofy and tells stories that trail into nowhere but in a funny way. Jay Ferguson is kind of focused and sedate until you put him behind the drums and then holy shit, what a total and complete ham. Andrew Scott's hair is less blond and getting kinda grey already, but he is kind of scarily built. And (as is maybe visible in the bad photo above) Patrick Pentland wore a bowler, vest and tie onstage tonight, still has that perpetually concerned, concentrating, tongue-should-be-sticking-out-with-focus look, and this has rekindled the ridiculous crush I used to have on him in high school. It's something about guys who look faintly concerned. Don't ask me, I just work here.
Shocker of the evening? We got this:
That's video from last night's show, not ours. But holy. They never play that, and I love it, and it has been obsessing me for three weeks, so. :)
And then that was that, and we wobbled back home (I mentioned there was dancing) and stuffed ourselves with protein and water, and five minutes, literally, after we got in there was a massive rainstorm, complete with thunder. Good timing. My feet hurt.
Next concert report, unless I find spare music lying around next week: Canada Day Spectacular! aka, Death By Concentrated Joy (tm).
Look! See? It's Sloan.
This fine evening, Dr. My Roommate and I went to the Mod Club to see Sloan (Sloan!). We have seen Sloan before, most recently last summer at Dundas Square, but that was a free set and short and tiny, and sometimes a band's playing and you've liked them since you were fourteen and you really just don't say no.
Clearly other people felt that way too, because it was sold out. I have never seen so many people in that room. And this was the second show of a two-night run.
We got there just as the opener was playing their last five bars or so (good timing! We are bad people who skip opening bands!) and they played for about an hour and a half: a lot of the new stuff and a lot of the faster, heavier, headbangy stuff. Unlike at the Rusty show, the people who go to see Sloan (or at least the people who work their way into the front, like we did) went to Nineties Concert Finishing School and are headbangers of quality.
Piratical drums.
We danced. A lot. And got enough of the old stuff salted into the main set to keep the energy moving: Coax Me, and Everything You've Done Wrong, and The Good in Everyone, and Losing California. The encore was fabulous: People of the Sky, Lines You Amend, and Money City Maniacs, in that order. Chris Murphy kept getting the audience to sing full verses and/or the backup on the hit songs. It is deeply satisfying to have a band onstage that encourages my tendency to sing the set back to the band.
The thing with bands that have been around since I was fourteen, and which I have loved since I was fourteen, is that after seeing them a couple times over the years there's a bit of a sense of relationship: you see people change as you change. And you see how people are the same. Chris Murphy is still kind of goofy and tells stories that trail into nowhere but in a funny way. Jay Ferguson is kind of focused and sedate until you put him behind the drums and then holy shit, what a total and complete ham. Andrew Scott's hair is less blond and getting kinda grey already, but he is kind of scarily built. And (as is maybe visible in the bad photo above) Patrick Pentland wore a bowler, vest and tie onstage tonight, still has that perpetually concerned, concentrating, tongue-should-be-sticking-out-with-focus look, and this has rekindled the ridiculous crush I used to have on him in high school. It's something about guys who look faintly concerned. Don't ask me, I just work here.
Shocker of the evening? We got this:
That's video from last night's show, not ours. But holy. They never play that, and I love it, and it has been obsessing me for three weeks, so. :)
And then that was that, and we wobbled back home (I mentioned there was dancing) and stuffed ourselves with protein and water, and five minutes, literally, after we got in there was a massive rainstorm, complete with thunder. Good timing. My feet hurt.
Next concert report, unless I find spare music lying around next week: Canada Day Spectacular! aka, Death By Concentrated Joy (tm).
