Everybody loves The Lindsay, and rightly so.

Everybody loves The Lindsay, and rightly so.

Despite their unassuming "Three Guys, a Girl and Rock Band" demeanor and an anti-careerist approach that lounges defiantly against modern indie rock's tendency toward the upwardly mobile - or maybe because of those factors in part - they are one of the most widely acclaimed rock bands in Columbus, beloved by the local media, fellow bands and that miniscule sliver of show-goers who don't fit in those two categories.

They sort of disappeared for a while after the hype from 2006's would-be hit LP "Dragged Out" died down, but when a new Lindsay album emerged this summer, a fervent appetite remained among the initiated, resulting in another round of satisfied consumers, glowing reviews, Independent Playground spins and the like. They are more "cult favorite" than "buzz band" at this point, but the cult is unwavering and influential enough to keep The Lindsay's name in heavy circulation.

Such rampant appreciation might lead to the usual backlash if their anglophile noise-pop wasn't pretty much unimpeachable. In fact, considering they don't consistently play to a packed house, you could make a case that The Lindsay is actually underrated. Saturday's Megacity Music Marathon, the PBR-sponsored all-day blowout at Woodlands Tavern, provided the band with a suitably sizable audience and another opportunity to remind us how awesome they are.

"Deep in the Queue," that new album, yielded a few of Saturday's gems, including the unstoppable Pixies-go-Britpop banger "Some of Your Friends," whose shrugging chorus - "Some of your friends are all right/ Most of the time" - best sums up singer-guitarist John Olexovitch's chi. But just as many were exciting new works or emphatic reminders of past greatness, including a couple burners from the "Syrup Bag" EP and the triumphant harmonic bitch-slap "Iranian Eyes" from "Dragged Out." It was a glorious thing to behold.

The one critique that lingers: The influences that usually fuel such revelatory rock music (classic rock, Britpop, '80s indie) sometimes shove their way too close to the front of the frame, as with Saturday's closing number, a ballad of sorts sung by a very pregnant Gretchen Tepper that had Pixies written all over it. After all this gushing, you can probably tell that neither I nor the rest of the onlookers minded much.