A few weeks ago Jona asked if I wanted to go to this show with her. She had heard the headliner on a 2003 Cleopatra Records comp called This is Neo-Goth, and her admiration had never wavered. Sure, I was game. I mean, I knew nothing about these bands, but I figured, let's see what happens.

Opening act Essenger played RecordBar last fall, so maybe I knew something about one of the bands. Still, my write-up of that show was full of conjecture whenever I lacked the necessary details. Since I was never contacted by a lawyer demanding retractions, I'll repeat many of those guesses here. The project is the creation of sole member Jeffrey Blake Simpson. He once called Kansas City home, but he didn't broadcast that fact during his forty-minute set of what might broadly be called EDM. Perhaps that's too vague, but it was the sort of varied set that could only come from a solo artist – one that skipped happily from melodic synth-wave to high BPM drum and bass to squelchy dubstep to genres I couldn't begin to recognize. Is cyberpunk a music genre? If it is, "Empire of Steel," with its dystopian tech vision, surely counts. Most of the time Simpson stood behind a rack of keyboards and electronic gizmos. The synchronized light show barely lit the area, casting the performance in dim, anticlimactic light. It was only when he stepped out from behind his keyboard stacks, and his search lights panned dramatically, that he was able to thrill the crowd with his excellent movement, energy, and strong banter. Sometimes he played a seven-string guitar connected to his electronics rig, but more often, the guitar noises came directly from a synthesizer. He's a master with the pitch bend wheel, able to shred Joe Satriani-style on his synth. The solo in "After Dark" was spectacular. Throughout the set, Simpson's voice moved from strong pop to screamed emo, and both sounded good. Vocal effects allowed him to become cold and robotic whenever he desired. Backing vocals bolstered his voice or allowed him to perform his multitude of collaborations alone. In closer "As Above, So Below" Simpson dueted with the pre-recorded vocals of Cryoshell's Christine Lorentzen. While the disembodied voice (and assorted other sounds) was slightly disconcerting, the backing tracks allowed Essenger to bring his studio recordings to a rock club stage with aplomb. Well done.

Near the end of the set someone behind me got woozy. Flashing lights, a hot room, and lack of water nearly did him in. Lots of "show moms" came to the rescue sitting the dude down and talking him back to clarity. Many of the impromptu nurses were wearing bunny ears. If I were about to faint and was suddenly surrounded by rabbits, I'd probably freak out. Jona later explained that the headliner uses a rabbit as a mascot and our woozy compatriot surely knew that. Knowing that, I began scanning the crowd, and noted that most of these bunny-eared fans lining the stage also clutched a branded tote bag – a memento of the headliner's VIP pre-show experience. Ohhh, this was that sort of show.

While I lobbed guesses about the opening act due to a lack of information, I wouldn't have that excuse when it came time to write about headliner – there are plenty of published details about the project's twenty-six-year history. Actually, it was too much information for me to dig through if I hoped to separate fan lore from reality. Let's just go for it and see what sort of success rate we end up with.

The Birthday Massacre was founded in London, Ontario as Imagica by vocalist Sara "Chibi" Taylor and guitarists Michael Rainbow and Michael Falcore. After a couple of years, the group changed its name and moved up the 403 to Toronto. Somewhere along the way the trio picked up Owen Mackinder (keyboards), Brett "Bat" Carruthers (bass), and Philip Elliott (drums). Ten albums followed. "Neo-goth" is one descriptor, but the broader, "Alt rock" might be a better categorization of the band's live show. I heard icy new-wave synths mesh comfortably with chugging nu metal guitars while a bombastic rhythm section exploded around them both. The act's sound was huge, even during the ballads. And there were plenty of ballads in the nineteen-song setlist. Taylor's voice was made for stylistic shifts, moving easily from a scream to a clear tone colored with just a hint of vibrato. She was chatty with the crowd. Very friendly and very Canadian. The audience was enraptured. "You're too sexy!" one fan shouted. "Woah, I didn't know Right Said Fred was here!" replied Taylor. What a delightful nerd. The show was big. There were no barricades or even floor monitors separating fans from performers, allowing Taylor and Rainbow direct and constant access to the crowd. A custom lightshow pulsed and panned around the musicians. The RecordBar seldom hosts anything this epic. After a few numbers I relinquished my prime post to Jona and the three hundred other fans who knew all the lyrics to all the songs – even to the two played from the band's then-unreleased album. During the crunching "Pins and Needles" these fans sang so loud I was worried their corsets might give way.

The group arrived at its scheduled encore about seventy minutes after it started. Taylor announced that the musicians wouldn't bother leaving the stage to trigger the encore charade because it looked like it might rain, and they wanted to get everyone home dry. Again, so sweet. Their "noncore" brought "Happy Birthday," "Red Stars," and "Blue" – a trio everyone in the crowd (except me) expected. While the fans jumped and pumped their fists matching the band's energy, I watched from the mezzanine. It was easy to see what everyone in the room was excited about. While I'm not ready to don bunny ears and spring for the VIP experience, hearing hooky, powerful songs played with elan by personable musicians is always a good night out. Thanks for the invite, Jona.