Playing to a packed house that at first glance seemed only to consist of young nubile females getting ready to shoot their underoos toward the stage, the newly minted alt-rock kings ripped through all the fan favorites with the unbridled swagger of a mid-sixties Rolling Stones. They glided seamlessly from synth-laden tunes straight into punk rock scorchers with the ease of old pros.
One of the most surprising and delightful aspects of the evening was the devoted fan base angling for a better view and singing every word while sandwiched like sardines in the sea of humanity.
Liverpool native Matthew Murphy's rapport with his front row admirers was only bested by bassist Overland-Knudsen's hamming it up and atomic bursts of energy. Seriously, it was like trying to catch a picture of the Tasmanian Devil on speed.
The trio looked great and sounded better, but in all fairnes the sound system at the legendary 9:30 has not failed a musician yet. Listen, do yourself a favor and get to whatever concert hall these three are playing next. You won't be sorry.