(Image not from last night’s show)

Doug Fir was packed last night. Super Furry Animals sold that motherfucker out. Missed the openers, Holy Fuck, but hey, what can you do?

Even though the place was a clusterfuck—no space to stand or move—it wasn’t buzzing… at least not in the way a sold out show usually is. But it was Monday, which is a tough time to get the crowd especially sudsy or riled up.

After a prolonged sound check and a short, recorded musical intro the Furries took stage, and to my disappointment no video projectors flipped on. There wasn’t much in the way of props except for the Power Rangers helmet singer Gruff Rhys occasionally tossed on while he sang.

At first I was a little disappointed – last time the Furries came to town the video projections were killer and the Wonder ballroom stage was full of props. How would we go from big and bombastic back to basics? But in the end, the stripped down Doug Fir show was enlightening in its own way—without all the clutter the Furries consummate skills and compositions took center stage and held it.

They were a band at work. And dammit, they were working hard. Everything—from the pristine sound to the perfect segues to the quirky stage tricks to the matching jackets—was nailed fucking down, yet still full of life. Even the rehearsed moments—like when the band thrust their guitars together, crisscrossing in the air—felt light. Clearly the Super Furries enjoy their jobs.

As they rammed through pop song after song the mood went up. That lack of bubbles before the show didn’t slow the Furries, which was testament to their ethic and enjoyment. Every note was precise, every beat was air-tight, and every instrument in just the right place.

The night’s set was chosen mostly by fans, via voting on the Furries website (quite a nice gesture I think). The band threw in a few from their latest, Hey Venus, and leaned heavily on Rings Around the World. At one point Rhys chomped carrots into the microphone to form the beat, a trick I’ve been told was done by Paul McCartney on a Beach Boys album.

In between songs Rhys showed off his cutesy Welsh accent. “Thank you very much,” he rattled off at rapid fire, song after song. But that was just about all you could understand. Motherfucker talks about a million miles and hour with an accent thick as mud.

Just as the mood was starting to slow – and, when you play nothing but hopeful pop, it eventually must – the Furries quickly wrapped things up. Outro music played, the band left the stage and the audience stayed put. They rose for an encore but the Furries would have none of it (apparently the band rarely, if ever, plays encores). It was the right move. I myself had just the about right amount of their round, spacey pop sandwich. Any more would’ve been too much.

As we walked off my friend said to me, “You know, I like seeing them live. I have no desire to listen to their albums when I’m at home, but live they’re just kind of nice, you know?”

Mmhmm.