DD/MM/YYYY

Shape-shifting, math-indebted and paroxysmal, DD/MM/YYYY play like off-meds Foals, albeit without the solemnity. Sun-baked and flanked by blow-up aluminum foil bags, the Toronto combo delivered a mostly buoyant set to a sweatier-than-sumo-wrestlers crowd. With razor-sharp fretboard work, frenetic drums and deft time-signature changes, it was frequently harrowing. Sure, the backing vocals occasionally disappeared, and the sound -- particularly the guitars -- went on sporadic hiatuses, but the five-piece stayed optimistic. And when all of the band's individual parts were relayed loud and clear, the results were enthralling.