After "Why You'd Want To Live Here"--a song about Los Angeles that features smart-alecky lyrics like, "It's a lovely summer's day and I can almost see a skyline through a thickening shroud of egos"--Gibbard said sincerely, "I really hope you guys don't take that song personally."

Next, he beat out a steady rhythm on a pair of electric drums set up before him, while Walla unveiled the melodic opening riff to "Title and Registration." Shrieks and applause ensured that all was forgiven.

DCFC, a current buzz band on the hipster scene, possesses a collection of epic riddles that sound vaguely alike--comprised of Gibbons' boyish sing-speak and the group's anthemic, build-'em-up rhythms. Still, the group managed to shake up its sound just enough to deliver a potent concert.

Gibbard's vocals were as delicious and wispy as cotton candy. To his left, Harmer flailed away to McGerr's emphatic pounding. Walla, meanwhile, carried his axe like a young guitar hero, all sexy and lean.

"Photobooth," with Walla on electric piano, was a devastating epic, as was "We Looked Like Giants," introduced by Gibbard as "a song about being a young man." And its endless drumbeat and circular guitar attack echoing pubescent anxiety lived up to its billing. Mid-song, a roadie set up a drum kit center stage. Suddenly, Gibbard took the seat and blasted out a volcanic meltdown of thwacks.

The band offered meditative slow-burners between the rockers, too. During "Tiny Vessels," the house spotlights scanned the darkened room like some scene out of "Alcatraz." On "Transatlanticism," Gibbons' closing mantra, "I need you so much closer," was passionate and headstrong.

The boys in the band entertained between songs with anecdotes and self-effacing humor. Before plunging into the droning bass and introspective questioning of "Lightness," Gibbons relayed a story about Barry Manilow advising the group to change its name. Said Gibbons, "Now we gotta change it!" Later, it was revealed that the movie "Raising Arizona" makes Walla cry. Aw.

A low-key encore featured Gibbons on piano for "Styrofoam Plates," from the group's 2001 LP "The Photo Album." On closer "Blacking Out the Friction," McGerr, hunched over, whacked hyper high-hat and tom rolls through the song's mystical, poignant chord progression.

The deliberate rhythm, with its headstrong verses ("I don't mind the weather/I've got scarves and caps and sweaters/I've got long johns under slacks for blustery days"), may have been a bit anticlimactic--but considering how many climaxes the band had already delivered, it was an understated conclusion to a surprisingly blustery evening.