Of all the nights not to bring a camera...

This was the kind of show the Wexner Center was created for. I was disappointed to miss Sinkane and F*** Buttons, but having already seen them both recently, I was mostly anticipating the headliner. Rightfully so, it turns out.

Four guys stood on a minimal stage in front of God's screensaver, using traditional rock instruments to craft the mind-bending sounds of cyborg dreams. Gushing much? Sure, but I might as well pile on the hyperbole because Caribou's show packed enough audio-visual wallop to make a mockery of this blog's claim to "sensory overload" status. Let's just say there were undoubtedly people in the crowd experiencing this show on a, ahem, different level than I was.

Of all the nights not to bring a camera...

This was the kind of show the Wexner Center was created for. I was disappointed to miss Sinkane and F*** Buttons, but having already seen them both recently, I was mostly anticipating the headliner. Rightfully so, it turns out.

Four guys stood on a minimal stage in front of God's screensaver, using traditional rock instruments to craft the mind-bending sounds of cyborg dreams. Gushing much? Sure, but I might as well pile on the hyperbole because Caribou's show packed enough audio-visual wallop to make a mockery of this blog's claim to "sensory overload" status. Let's just say there were undoubtedly people in the crowd experiencing this show on a, ahem, different level than I was.

In a blur of gnarly drum fills, spacey guitar, throbbing bass and a cornucopia of extraneous sounds, Dan Snaith's band managed to be many things at once—futuristic psych-poppers, melodic krautrock revivalists, celestial breakbeat rockers. Snaith has a unique vision for this band, one that doesn't come across so emphatically on his (admittedly excellent) records. On stage, delivered with full rock power, these songs may lose a few degrees of nuance, but they gain a visceral power that Snaith's somewhat softspoken recordings, particularly the recent Andorra, never quite muster.

Credit the band for making such a racket with only four people. In particular, credit Columbus' own Ahmed Gallab, who joined the band as an emergency pinch drummer less than two weeks ago and proceeded to absolutely slaughter the vast array of beats. He basically flew in, practiced for a day and a half and hit the road. To learn such complex songs in such a short time, then to obliterate them like that, is no small feat. The dude staked a convincing claim to Columbus drum supremacy last night.

And then there's the video. I can't emphasize enough just how much the color explosion behind the band added to the experience. It was every bit as elaborate and stimulating as the music—enough to pin a drunken friend of mine to the back wall, eyes wide, slackened jaw. I don't know who I would feel worse for in the face of all that: the blind or the epileptic.

To return to the hyperbole for a moment, experiencing this set was like riding through a psychedelic cartoon landscape on some tripped-out train powered by drum fills and cooed melodies. At first it was thrilling; eventually that initial excitement wore off as the songs started to bleed together a bit. But by the end I had stopped taking it for granted and started soaking it all in while I still could.

I tend to think of music squarely in terms of entertainment value, and Caribou's transcendent, trance-inducing set certainly delivered in that department. But this was art. This is why a place like the Wexner Center exists. Thank God it does—and while you're at it, compliment Him on His badass screensaver.