I got to the Mod Club last night after slogging through seemingly endless crowds of Little Italy streetfest revellers, on an unusually chilly June evening, so I wasn’t in the loveliest of moods when I arrived. But I was heartened when I walked into the club itself — great sightlines, awesome sound, good lighting, and Raising The Fawn launching into one of their best songs (“Gwendolyn”) — and contented further when my admittedly odd urge for bourbon was satisfied by a large shot of Maker’s Mark. I caught Raising The Fawn’s last few songs, and was impressed; I saw them open for …And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of Dead about two years ago (RTF was followed that night by Explosions In The Sky…pound for pound, it was one of the best shows I’ve seen). I might have to give The North Sea another listen.

I should comment on The Mod Club. Granted, I’ve only been there once, I saw a great band, and Duarte comped my drinks all night, so I could be biased. But it definitely has a lot going for it: I’m picky about both sightlines and sound in live venues, but here both are terrific. Being 6’2″ I’m at an advantage anyway, but I think I could’ve stood anywhere in the club and seen the stage perfectly. The sound, even when we were off to the corner of the stage, sounded balanced and clear. Even the lights impressed me, and I couldn’t usually give a shit about lighting. After the headline set the DJs took over, and any club whose DJ (it was Ben at that point) plays “Youth Against Fascism” by Sonic Youth and “Yeah” by LCD Soundsystem is ok in my book. Of course as the night went on and the crowd became less concert-goer and more club-kid, the music went away from my tastes a bit, but it could’ve been worse. I could’ve been at Tonic. Frankly, the I think the Mod Club could now be the best place in the city to see a live show. It’s bigger than Lee’s or the ‘Shoe but still more intimate than the Phoenix or the Kool Haus, has better sound than any other live venue in the city (that I’ve been to, anyway) and the decor & staff tend toward warm & friendly rather than going for that surly biker feel.

Definitely the weirdest thing that happened all night was when I met the owner of the Mod Club, Mark Holmes, ex of Platinum Blonde. I kind of wanted to scream, “One of the first things I learned to play as a drummer was the solo to ‘It Doesn’t Really Matter!'”, but I figured that would be a) lame and b) stupid, ’cause he was the singer.

Anyway, the reason I was there: The Fiery Furnaces. They came on around 9:45, and finished around 10:40. Normally, I’d feel ripped off by a band that played less than an hour, but not last night. They played their songs at a manic pace and without stopping. Song ran into song. Endings came abruptly as a new beginning was counted in. Songs were changed so drastically that they were barely recognizable. Some songs became recurring themes (they sang a few lyrics from “Leaky Tunnel” 2 or 3 times before quickly moving onto something else. When they finally let us up for air, it was 9:25. They played another song or two (my memory is fuzzy…the songs were such a blur that it became difficult to keep track) before walking off. Matthew and Eleanor came back out for three songs — leaving behind the bassist/keyboardist and drummer who tour with them — one of which is a favourite: “Rub-Alcohol Blues”. I was hoping it would lead into “We Got Back The Plague”, but Eleanor waved Matthew off before he could start. She forgot most of the lyrics to the last song, so they gave up and that’s how they left us.

A few words about Eleanor: She was captivating. She has, as Eye suggests, “an unnervingly Patti Smith-esque glare”, and some kind of a slight trembling ferocity that’s irresistable. Anybody who says they weren’t turned on by the sight of her pounding her guitar, or rocking back and forth when she sang, “Don’t you wish your little boy was cute like mine?” are lying. She’s approaching PJ Harvey-ish territory, where force & anger of voice belie physical size. Like Rock and Roll could give a shit about size.

Like The Fiery Furnaces could give a shit about rock and roll.