As I headed there in my beat-up platform Jordan Doc Marten boots (a concert staple), my wired headphones beamed The Brian Jonestown Massacre straight into my ears in preparation for the show I was en route to see. After a slightly unaccounted-for kerfuffle at the box office, I entered the raked auditorium (my favourite concert viewing experience) of the Théatre Beanfield and settled into my nook on stage right. Meandering into their set of a genre-bending, rather indefinable blend of psychedelic shoegaze adjacent alt-rock jumble, I thought I understood their schtick. After being left with residual full-body vibrations from the Flavor Crystals’ magnetically percussive set, I settled back in for Brian Jonestown Massacre (despite battling some of the worst concert etiquette from the inter-generational crowd). Emerging from backstage in a slightly somnambulant fashion earned by their *mature* age bracket, was the band, Brian Jonestown Massacre themselves.