Last night at the Complex gave us a mix of old and new faces of indie rock that both hopefully give us many more years of music. The sold-out show seemed to draw fans ofΒ Β  Barns Courtney and long-awaited headliners The Wombats. Both were refreshing reminders that indie is still lyrical, honest, and thriving.

Photo: Charissa Che

Barns Courtney and his bandmates gave the performance of seasoned artists, and it largely had to do with the music itself. True, the frontman has the swagger of young Julian Casablancas, which effectively drove all the girls nuts. His every move – from when he took off his jacket, to when he took a long swig of water and spewed it in the air (Sidenote: is that a new thing that rock singers are doing, or something?) was met with uncontrollable swoons.

Photo: Charissa Che

Yet what’s even more remarkable than his wooing abilities is his delivery of indie rock with an old soul. The creeping, slow march of β€œGlitter and Gold” and the melancholy slice-of-life (hearkening Leonard Cohen) β€œLittle Boy” is a prime example of what sets Courtney apart from his fellow long-coiffed, skinny-jeaned β€œbad boy” counterparts.

Photo: Charissa Che

Any sour feelings about The Wombats show cancellation earlier this year was seemingly dispelled for attendees. They certainly were on my part, starting with their second song, β€œGive Me a Try.” At the risk of sounding trite and gushy, there is seriously an earnestness and sweetness to the track, lyrics, arrangement, and all – that makes it timeless. (It was hard to maintain my composure and camera steady, which may explain some of the blurry pics.) Indeed, hardly a song started where the crowd didn’t go into a frenzy. There was β€œLet’s Dance to Joy Division,” which was there to cheer up nihilistic millennials when they were younger, and newer fare like β€œTurn,” sans Halsey. β€œOldies” came with β€œBee-Sting” and β€œTokyo – Vampires and Wolves.” Murph prefaced β€œPatricia the Stripper” by insisting to his absent mother, also named Patricia, for the umpteenth time that it wasn’t about her.

Photo: Charissa Che

Murph’s dry English humor landed particularly effectively when after a song, he turned to his mates Dan and Tord and admitted there was an entire part of the song he’d skipped. β€œSomehow we’d skipped the chorus and went right to the outro,” he muttered, and they all shrugged. The exchange carried out for a good minute.

β€œWhat’s going on?” asked a guy behind me, to his friend.

β€œWho knows,” his friend replied, in an amazing monotone.

Photo: Charissa Che

β€œThis is our fake last song,” Murph said sarcastically before playing their fake last song and hardly disappearing before reemerging. Admittedly, I wish they had performed β€œYour Body is a Weapon” during their encore, because I imagine it would have been explosive live, but β€œGreek Tragedy” wasn’t a bad runner-up. A dude in the wombat suit even emerged out of nowhere and romped about with the guys.

Photo: Charissa Che

For more photos from the show, go here.