It’s not the band I hate, it’s their fans*

If Madmethod hadn’t seen them in SF Monday night, I’d have thought that Sloan’s show at the Troubador was their first in a long time. They rocked. Hard. Like (and I can’t believe I’m saying this) almost too hard for my aging rock-and-roll self. But they played “Coax Me” and “The Lines You Amend” and D’s favorite “The Good in Everyone”, so I was happy. Especially considering I haven’t bought their latest album so the newer material wasn’t familiar.

We were close to the stage so we were able to witness firsthand the total dweebiness of these guys, which I admit is a huge part of their appeal for me. A few songs in Chris was rocking so hard that his glasses flew off, and really–is there anything nerdier? It was also fun to be close enough to read the set list on the stage, so we knew Andrew was being kind of a dick by launching into “People of the Sky” instead of playing “I Know You…” as the playlist dictated.

We’d started the evening at the Fiesta Cantina which, despite having really shitty Mexican food, is one of my favoritest neighborhood bar/restaurants because (a) it’s super-close, and (b) their 2-for-1 Happy Hour is from 4-8 (and again from 10:30-12:30) every single day. As we discovered on our first visit, that doesn’t mean half-price drinks–it means that you order your drink and they bring out two. I washed down my $4 Tuesday Night Taco special with two massive top-shelf margaritas. I know it makes me sound like a lush, but I really enjoyed going out and getting buzzed on a weeknight. My work-from-home lifestyle and car-based existence doesn’t allow for that to happen often.

In summation: Fiesta Cantina is the place to get your cheap ass drunk, and Sloan rules. The end.

*Actually, I like their fans, too, except for the three very young women whom D dubbed “the trolls,” who midway through the show pushed through the crowd and tried to occupy the six inches of space in front of us. Fortunately a young guy standing near us was sucker chivalrous enough to give them some space in front of him, a move he surely regretted when they started “dancing” (more accurately, thrashing) and gesturing to their friends in the back to come up and join them. I was mostly fine with all the movement, until the heaviest of the three started pogoing enthusiastically and landed squarely on one of my toes. Bitch.


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