The Encore Room doesn't host scruffy local acts. Let's see what happened when the two met for the first time.

Chuck Whittington (vocals/guitar) and Hillary Watts (keyboards/vocals) walked the steps up to the formal stage just after 8pm. The couple comprise the synth-pop duo 90 Minute Cassette. They were dressed for the occasion – Whittington in a jacket and tie and Watts in a dress and heels. When in Rome. The band's take on synth pop is unique, making comparisons pointless. The set placed buoyant new wave numbers alongside brassy rock ones, then augmented that coupling with several pop compositions written to play over '80s film montages – at least to my reckoning. The audience was loaded with area musicians who appreciated the act's unlimited approach. Mike Alexander applauded a particularly nice guitar solo that leaned into jazz fusion. When Michelle Finn couldn't find a reliable dance partner, she danced alone. By the end of the set Watts had kicked off her heels. The midtown rabble was making itself at home in the room.

I don't think The Creature Comforts ever really broke up. At some point in the early aughts, its members just succumbed to an indefinite hiatus. Since then, it has taken a special anniversary for the trio (or foursome) to return to the stage. As each decade has passed, the audience for these reunions has grown older and the crowd has narrowed to just traveling mega fans, lifelong friends, and the musicians' growing families. Each installment has also extended the banter between songs. This edition of the reunion was spurred by the first-ever vinyl release of the band's 1998 debut The Politics of Pop. A 28th anniversary pressing? Why not.

The live quartet is still Christopher Tolle (vocals/guitar), J.D. Warnock (guitar/vocals), Brian Everard (bass), and Billy Brimblecom Jr (drums) – and they've all remained in fighting shape. Tolle still looked every bit the rockstar frontman – thin, wiry, and tattooed. The set began with the entire ten-song run from Politics played in order. The album includes a bit of everything from nearly pop punk to nearly heartland rock. Every song is poppy, loaded with hooks, and full of twenty-something sentimentality. It's exceptionally of its time. If the album got its hooks into you in 1998, it had you for life. The album is frontloaded with the (local) alt radio staple "Sentimental Bliss" followed by the tight Costello-like quirk of the title track. Both sounded wonderful with the live version of the latter besting its original. Stories poured out between most of the songs: love at first sight, bad opening gigs, first practices. Penultimate track "Charmed I'm Sure" was a Replacements-esque romp that had the room shaking. Chaotic closer "Big Dipper" was followed by a four-song encore (in name only) featuring cuts from the band's second and final album, Teaching Little Fingers to Play. "(Tipping the) Cash Cow" turned into a sprawling jam that surely blew past the original's already ample 5:25 run time. Thankfully the outfit's pop rock balance was restored with final number "Lonely Monday."

There was no exodus after the music ended. Instead, the lights remained low as friends caught up over drinks from the overpriced bar. The room may not see much of the midtown rabble, but the pairing seemed to work for both parties. Satisfied, I looked around the room, did some quick math in my head multiplying people I know by the average farewell derivative, then factoring in the frequency of the streetcar as I approached my limit, and well, it added up to an Irish goodbye. We'll do the same here.