Hot Hot Heat at The Rickshaw Stop in San Francisco, CA (8/19)

Canadian dance-punk rockers Hot Hot Heat found mainstream success in the early aughts with their 2002 Sub Pop release Make Up The Breakdown and its signature single “Bandages,” a spunky, alkaline, impossibly-catchy track that sounded like the Top 40 evolution of the similarly 80′s-influenced sound of The Killers. Replicating that initial commercial attention has since more or less escaped the quartet, even though 2007′s Happiness Ltd. was undoubtedly one of the best records of that year, and so their recent gig at The Rickshaw Stop (one of San Francisco’s absolute best venues, the counterpoint to such affronts to the vibrancy of live music as The Utah) in support of their latest album Future Breeds was an interesting exercise in measuring how a once commercially-relevant band goes about reclaiming their place in the pop milieu. Indeed, at least a few of those in attendance were overheard struggling to remember any other songs from the band besides “Bandages.”

First up was Hey Rosetta!, a Canadian six-piece fronted by talented performer Tim Baker. Adding violin and cello to a standard four-piece setup, the indie favorites infused energy, passion, and pure musical talent to deliver a stirring performance. Baker’s raspy vocals cut into your heart, seeming to establish an immediate emotional connection, and his interplay with bassist and backing vocalist Josh Ward is one of those little bits of musical magic that has to be seen live. The soaring, aching “There’s An Arc” displayed aural dynamism of the highest order, and the rest of the setlist wasn’t too far off. What a fantastic way to start the show.

Next up was British blues rockers 22-20s, who fared less well. The only thing this reviewer had heard about the band was that they were being compared to Kings of Leon, which, after the utterly pedestrian set of clunky, paint-by-numbers rock numbers I felt like I was forced to sit through, seemed to be nothing short of a ridiculous notion. The excruciatingly cliched rock ballad “Ocean” was the worst offender. There is nothing this band does that the Manic Street Preachers didn’t do better 15 years ago.

Taking the stage minutes after 11pm, Hot Hot Heat sauntered out to a neon wave of lights, the only (and quite effectively employed throughout the night) props their set relied on. Vocalist Steve Bays hit a chord on his keyboard that seemed to reverberate around the room for ages, lifted a hand above his legendary curly jewfro as the crowd cheered on cue, and in an instant, things like lasting commercial appeal and chart performance just didn’t seem to matter anymore. Hot Hot Heat didn’t just put on a great show with an ironclad setlist and bucketfuls of winning charm, it felt like they transported those in attendance to another place.

Riding the steady rhythms of original drummer Paul Hawley and the perfectly choppy, trippy riffs of Luke Paquin, Bays utilized his excited yelp of a voice to guide us through the driving “21@12,” the way-better-live-than-on-the-record “YVR,” and the caffeinated, exploding “Implosionatic.” The new material blended seamlessly with older tracks, as the band showcased a maturation process over the past decade that has more to do with honest assessments of musical purpose and subtlely refining a style that clearly works, instead of knee-jerk adoptions of disparate genre elements.

And what a style it is. Throughout the night, as the audience danced, swayed, and sometimes spazzed out, it was clear that other acts such as Franz Ferdinand and MGMT owe much to the radio niche that Hot Hot Heat had a prominent role in carving out. This realization was underscored by the sheer live prowess of the band, who never allowed us to go too long without dancing and bobbing our heads. In fact, by the time the band got to “Bandages,” it was merely the capper to an already brilliant show and, to their credit, I don’t think anyone would have noticed if they hadn’t played it at all.

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Tags: hot hot heat, san francisco, the rickshaw stop