Slimmed to a transport-friendly sextet for tonight's show, Broken Social Scene headlined as part of a Mercury Records showcase (their UK label) in Leicester's comfily rawk-centric musi-den, The Charlotte. At best, there were 50 people present -- a confused-looking assortment of freaky longhairs, students, BSS hardcores and the merely curious swilling pints in dark corners. The two support bands were clearly misplaced, both so grimly pedestrian and dull that it's perhaps best that they remain nameless. Suffice to say that there was a whole lot of fringe on stage, but not much "rock"; each band was cloaked in the apparel of people who'd sooner be anywhere but here. Song climaxes were greeted with muted applause, and the curiously English tradition of awkward, between-song silence.

By the time the six Canadians ambled onto the stage, the crowd had moved closer, half-filling the dancefloor void. I staked my territory stage-front as the band issued their welcome, launching into a strange and enrapturing drone. If it wasn't the album's opening cut, "Capture The Flag", it was as close an approximation as we could have expected. The lurching groove of "Stars And Sons" took shape next -- a song that's simultaneously groovy, spacy and ethereal. At its droolingly otherworldly peak, the band began clapping their hands -- and suddenly, Broken Social Scene were making people dance. I was too busy spazzing like a drunken (yet frustratingly sober) bear at this point to really pay much attention, but let's just say it rocked. Any music that inspires a fairly inhibited individual to make an absolute, lumbering twat of himself in front of a bunch of strangers can only be a good thing. It was clear that there were too damn many inhibitions in the room, but the curious language of gig-dom suggests that the nodding heads, gormless grins and shifting toe-taps were indicative of some seriously blown minds.

In keeping with the band's collaborative aesthetic, band members swapped instrumental duties at will, while vocals were shared between four of the six people on stage. Wholly immersed in these wondrous songs, the six members swung, writhed and swayed together like a musical vessel. It made for a curiously kinetic visual -- part musical workshop, part reverie of togetherness -- and allowed the band to wring every drop of emotional viscera from their set, which included a heart-wrenching "Looks Like The Sun", the powerful-as-fuck punk spazz of "KC Accidental" and the crescendo-heavy bombast of "Anthems For A Seventeen Year-Old Girl". Here, the band's curiously Chrissie Hynde-like female singer (what, I'm supposed to know all of their names?) created an effects-augmented vocal swell that prompted aortic failings in all but the most pulmonarily ox-like. In other words, it was a fucking heartbreaking performance, but in the most rapturous and uplifting way.

"Lover's Spit" led us by the hand into introspection. On the stage and on the dancefloor, heads swayed, eyes closed and bodies slowly wriggled; the audience was submerged in a trance. The closing "Almost Crimes", however, did the exact opposite, throwing kick-arse ice buckets upon the proverbial slumber. On-stage energy levels soared sky-high, marking the orgasmic climax to an hour or so of loving, emotionally-charged, song-based foreplay. I suppose it's a shame that there weren't more Leicesterites on hand to bask in these joys, but it's their loss -- the show was wonderful. Catch Broken Social Scene wherever, whenever and however you can.

Article by Allan Harrison. Photos by Tomas Georgeson.