Bloc Party Give As Good As They Get

As a general rule, when a concert is moved from the hollow and impersonal Ricoh Coliseum, it's cause for celebration... unless of course that show has shifted to The Docks. That venue isn't only impersonal, it's far away from anything remotely resembling civilization. But, thanks to a complete sound system overhaul, The Docks now has at least one thing going for it.

Instead of the washed-out aural miasma Toronto concert-goers had to endure in past performances, crisp, clear sound travelled unimpeded from the front of the room to the back. With that in mind, it was an ideal move for London's Bloc Party on Friday night.

I managed to catch nearly all of San Fancisco trio Deerhoof's set. Lead singer and bassist Satomi Matsuzaki exudes an oddly magnetic personality. She's hard to turn away from, because when you do you feel guilty. Their rip-shod post-punk not only lived up to the hyperbolic praise that's been floating around on blogs and in print, but it also amped up an already eager and seemingly near capacity crowd.

Bloc Party were what I've come to expect of Bloc Party — a blast to watch and gracious to boot. While the band ably showcased a heap of stuff from their latest effort, A Weekend In The City, they drew equally, if not more, from 2005's Silent Alarm. "Waiting For The 7:18" and "Hunting For Witches" are great songs, but they don't quite live up to the foot-stomping "Like Eating Glass" or the guttural snarl of "Helicopter."

Early on, lead singer Kele Okereke implored the crowd to "Pace yourselves, we're in for a long night." It was sage advice, but went largely unheeded as each song was greeted with a seemingly endless well of unbridled enthusiasm.

A big part of why Bloc Party succeeds in a live setting, aside from their uncommonly tight playing, is Okereke. He's a born frontman who sings each song like it might be his last. He's unrelenting in his pursuit of other people's good times and only stopped to make sure a young lady was feeling alright after being drilled in the head by some over-excited frat boy in an Abercrombie pullover. On top of it all, Okereke has an uncanny way of making the ennui of the daily grind seem genuinely exciting.

After the effusive 85-minute set, it seemed all at once that everyone remembered what it is they hate about The Docks — no cabs, clogged streets and the sight of the city so deceptively close. Still, none of that seemed so bad as I trudged up Cherry Street, if only because Bloc Party sounded so good.