by Maura Johnston
In certain rock circles, the term pop often refers to bands that are just a bit too good at crafting memorable hooks and surrounding them with rich harmonies, incisive lyrics, and intuitive yet surprising instrumental twists. The Canadian quartet Sloan probably sums up the rock purist’s platonic pop ideal: Over two-plus decades together, the band has consistently released smart, hooky rock, from “Underwhelmed,” an early-career ode to romantic and linguistic misunderstandings, to “Unkind,” a stripped-down 2011 take on big-tent AOR.
Sloan’s 11th album, “Commonwealth,” is a double disc with a twist: Each of four LP sides is themed after a card deck’s suit, and given over to one band member’s creative vision. Sloan has moved as a unit so fluidly over its career, with members switching off on instrumental and vocal duties, that the pick-a-side proposal is utterly appealing, showing just how each part of the band contributes to its precision-grade whole.
Thursday night’s two-set show at Great Scott opened with “Forty Eight Portraits,” the sprawling suite that serves as Commonwealth’s closing statement. The brainchild of Andrew Scott, it has moments of Stones swagger and ELO pomp, topped off by a shout-out to Lou Reed. Drawing a crowd in with a nearly 20-minute shapeshifter would be a risky opening gambit for nearly anyone, but here, the room was drawn right in, shimmying and clapping along.
Set One was heavy on “Commonwealth” tracks. Patrick Pentland took the spotlight for the swaggering “Keep Swinging (Downtown)” and “13 (Under a Bad Sign),” his husky rasp giving the harmonies behind him a slightly sinister edge. Next was Jay Ferguson, whose “Commonwealth” contributions might be the album’s most candy-coated; the gooey “You’ve Got A Lot On Your Mind” showcased Sloan’s ability to play feather-light love songs. And Chris Murphy’s “You Don’t Need Excuses to Be Good,” which closed out the opening half, served the same role as synthesis as on the record: It’s sweet and sour, crisp and loose, compressing decades of radio-ready rock into three minutes and change.
The rest of the night was given over, for the most part, to Sloan’s vast catalog. The siren call of “Money City Maniacs,” the chiming urgency of “500 Up,” the resigned gloominess of “The Other Man”: Each has different stylistic appeal, but all contributed to a night that could have lasted for another two hours without exhausting Sloan’s many hits or the out-past-midnight crowd.
--taken from: Boston Globe
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