all photos: Dakota Fine

I think I just went to my first “feel good” show. I mean, I’ve been to shows after which I’ve felt like I had a spiritual re-awakening, but this was one of the first that I couldn’t wipe a stupid grin off of my face.

I guess that’s to be expected. The New Pornographers and these days Carl Newman in particular, possess an uncanny ability to write bright, smiley power-pop songs that showcase the catchiest of vocal stylings. Who can resist such fun? Not me, so I put on my Monday-night party cap and hightailed it over to the 9:30 Club, looking forward to an evening of sugary sweet sing-along magic.

I wanted to make sure the magic included a bit of Okkervil River, so I showed up at what I thought was an early 9:00 pm arrival time. I had gotten the idea into my head that the show was at 9, so when I asked the ticket-maiden what time “they” were going on, I thought a 9:30 start time meant the opening act. I was wrong. This discovery didn’t fully materialize until I actually walked in to the main room at 9:30 to the first notes of the New P’s and a seriously packed crowd.

Again, I realized this was a sold-out show, and that sold-out shows typically mean a lot of people. Maybe it was just Monday and my mind was seriously slowed down by the inherent monotony of the day, but to see all those peeps ready to rumble with some groovy Canadians overwhelmed me. My excitement factor doubled.

As I skillfully maneuvered my way through the hot-steppin’ crowd, I noted the markedly older make up of the crowd. Maybe it was just the particular corner I chose to set up shop in, but these folks were not standing shyly with friends, painfully self-aware and uncomfortable in their own skin. These were 40-somethings who hired the pricier early-week babysitter just to come out and see the band they’ve been listening to and loving for the last decade. The age variety in fellow concert-goers spoke not only to the accessibility of the Pornoers, but to some transcending love and appreciation of intelligently crafted rock music. I sort of felt more mature just being graced by such folks. Sort of.

The New P’s must have made their night. They must have inspired someone to say to their spouse of 10 years, “Honey, let’s throw caution to the wind. We’ve gotta do this again sometime.” Because they rocked at a level particularly appropriate for the near-mid-age, no-longer “edgy” couple to be blown away. Their rock porridge bowl wasn’t too small, wasn’t too large, it was jusssst right.

With a seemingly endless supply of energy and spirit, the band grabbed their favorite instruments, be they Gibson Electric-V guitars or ornately decorated Accordions, and embarked on an admirable mission to sing their way into our hearts. Or at least that’s what it felt like. At their best, the Pornographers combine the best of cheerful classic pop tunes with the self-conscious and witty sincerity of contemporary indie rock. And although I had some nerdy hesitations about the mix, particularly it’s prevalence of vocals at the expense of showcasing the sharper guitar parts, they were at their best for most of the night.

The set comprised of some newer ones, some classics, and even a bonafide “rock and roll classic” in ELO’s “Don’t Bring me Down.” Two encores and 20-something songs later, another successful Monday night was granted me. Neko couldn’t make it (sickness), but it was Carl’s birthday, and I think we got the best present. And no, I’m not talking about Neko’s attractive replacement, Kathryn Calder, who filled pretty damn big shoes with ease.

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