Everything about seeing Fanfarlo last night at the Cradle — a small crowd, but one that really, really wanted to see this band, especially irritating underage drunk asshole who yelled for “Fire Escape” all show; with Hospitality at the 506 and War on Drugs at Kings, there was competition, plus, oh, you know, the ACC tournament — was light and bounding and hopeful, like candlelight shadows on a wall. Their guitars and their harmonies, the shining trumpet and even the drums, which drive every song they do, seem somehow singing and wild. They were so fantastic, you can’t even imagine. It felt like going to church, or seeing the Northern Lights, or something miraculous and huge; I went to the show with a space under my ribs empty and aching from other things, and their set just shivered and shook it right from me.

They’re on tour for quite a bit in support of Rooms Filled With Light — what an apt album name, for the feeling they gave me last night — and you should go see them, because they were amazing live. (They also made me want to see Beirut again like whoa, the same kind of shining European-feeling songs of joy.)

Chicago’s Young Man opened, and they were all, in fact, young men. They play a sort of psychedelic art rock that suggests someone listened to a lot of Frank Zappa on vinyl as a child, they’re all adorable, and their drummer plays the drums like Michael Jordan played basketball: with his tongue sticking out, and with a great deal of virtuosic grace. He’s gonna be one to watch, mark my words. They’re gonna be some boys to watch.

Full set is here. Great, great thanks to Catharine at Atlantic Records for setting up this opportunity for me; gracious and charming and excellent folks over there.