Indianapolis Colts Are Now!

Husband and I went last night to see CanRock superstars the Sloans. As a perennial favorite mount in my stable of rock and roll horsies, I never miss them on their way through town and, in many instances, have followed them to other towns for additional rocking.

Though half of the band was considerably under the weather, their overall rocking was not proportionately diminished. Then again, I'm not sure it's physically possible for Sloan to put on a bad show. They played many songs from the new and genius Never Hear The End Of It, and given that album's 30-track run of variable length-tunes, I wasn't sure how some of the songs would translate to a live format. But they did, fantastically. Sloan worked them into little three- or four-song packages, one right into the other. The band was in good spirits and their famous wit was on display per usual -- save for Jay Ferguson's general demeanor of misery (he seemed the sickest) and the one time Andrew Scott started into a song before Chris Murphy and Patrick Pentland were done with their clever banter, as if to say, "Shut the hell up, fuckers, I want to be done with this."

Anyway. All of this was to be expected. The unexpected portion of the evening came in the way that one of the opening acts, a group from Detroit called Thunderbirds Are Now!, ruled. Now, typically, I am miserable at the mere thought of standing through opening acts. I go out of my way to avoid them, even if it means, in some cases, sacrificing precious position at the front of the stage (a must for short chicks like me). So it was rather convenient that the NFL AFC Championship game between the Indianapolis Colts and the New England Patriots was going on during the two Sloan openers. Something to do instead of stand there, bored, staring at some local rock and roll hoodlums. That should tell you something: I am no football fan, but I'd rather watch a championship game than watch an opening act.

It was an interesting scenario: people who like Sloan enough to come out on a frigid Sunday night are generally not huge NFL fans, while people who are big enough football fans to be cheering wildly with each play are generally not really into Nova Scotian power pop. Not to make generalizations or anything. And it's not like you could be in the bar without paying the Sloan ticket price, so I'm guessing someone only in it for the game would have gone to one of the other no-cover bars just a few doors down.

So poor Thunderbirds Are Now! start their set, and they sound pretty awesome. Keyboard! I hear a keyboard! But the plays taking place as the Colts beat the Patriots were garnering much larger cheers. You had to sort of feel sad for the band, that Tony Dungy was getting a louder reaction from indie rock fans than they were. One dude was such a huge Colts fan, I thought he might strike me down in his exhilirating attempt to share a high-five. Dude turned out to be a huge Sloan fan, too, standing right behind us for most of the show until he disappeared, no doubt too overcome by all the football and CanRock excitement to remain upright any longer.

What I want to tell you is this: once we made our way to the stage after the game was over, we were treated to one hell of a show by Thunderbirds Are Now!. Specifically, their keyboard/tambourine player. Their sweaty, hyperactive, phenomenal keyboard/tambourine player, who is nothing less than the heir to the Flashing Lights' keyboard playing, tambourine shaking, cape wearing savant Gaven Dianda. Though Gaven continues to make music with various outfits -- and though my Thunderbirds hero was not wearing a cape -- I am glad to see someone else continuing in the general direction of misunderstood genius keyboarder tambourinist.

You should all go buy their albums.