It goes without saying (though, when have I ever kept quiet?) that Terminal 5 has played host to some stellar acts of late. From Cut Copy to Bloc Party to last week’s Santigold and Trouble Andrew dynamite lineup. Come tomorrow night, the avidly adored French foursome Phoenix will perform a sold out -– “Not even Anne Hathaway’s getting in!” –- show. Yes, Terminal 5 may very well be in the prime of its life right now, kicking ass and showcasing great names.

As for last night, Canadian-based quartet Metric commanded the entire room, front to back, side-to-side, tier-to-tier. Led by blonde bombshell Emily Haines, the three gents (guitarist James Shaw, bassist Josh Winstead and drummer Joules Scott-Key) and their gorgeous gal broke it down from 9:30 till 11. In this hour-and-a-half heavenly span they covered vast territory, plucking from albums past and, duh, showcasing songs from their recent release, Fantasies, which hit shelves in April.

From this record they laid down the best tracks, including “Help I’m Alive,” “Satellite Mind,” “Gimme Sympathy” and “Gold Guns Girls,” among others. During the latter, Haines halted her 90-minute aerobic routine (which included ample side-stepping, shoulder-dancing, swim moves –- think the breast stroke, sans water –- and righteous, rockstar arm thrusts) to hop on the guitar. You can imagine her hotness. Definitely not a woman beside whom I’d choose to stand, for fear of wilting in her radiance, both her utter talent and her ridiculous good looks. Sheesh. She’s the complete package.

Of especial note was Haines’ introduction to “Gimme Sympathy"; she began by confessing her awe of New York, despite having lived here before. (After all, the band initially met in the honorable borough of Brooklyn.) The surreal never fades for some folks and I can wholeheartedly appreciate this not-yet-jaded perspective. Haines spoke of the wonder that is this city and our preoccupation, as humans and, in particular, as Manhattanites, with “focusing on the life we want versus appreciation of what we have.” She went on, expressing the opinion that, “some of us have to be exactly who we are. This song is about striving for the things there is no need to strive for.”

A couple numbers were significantly more rockin’ in real life than heard through headphones, to my mind anyway. “Dead Disco,” off of Old World Underground, Where Are You Now? (2003) is indeed a badass track, but I can’t tell you how many times I skip over it on my iPod (clicking my way to the MSTRKRFT “Monster Hospital” remix most probably). Last night? This song captivated. With its thick synth, escalating strumming and punchy vocal delivery, the band capitalized off these distinct traits and expanded on them, lengthening the instrumental solos and closing with intense strobe light effects. Towards the end, Haines silently fiddled with the dials, then kneeled down as the lights came up. Needless to say, this specific rendition inspired much moshing, shoulder-hoisting and fist pumping.

Another notable booty-mover was “Empty,” pulled from Live It Out (2005), their second studio album. This song straddles soft and raucous, oscillating between the two opposite poles, and works well in the up-close and personal setting. Haines explored the stage space, portable mic in hand as she shimmied in time to the beat, her voice echoing due to a mic maneuver. With its ethereal, Pinback-esque chords meets explosive, electric guitar solo aesthetic, this song may suffer from schizophrenia, but it lends credibility to the argument that manic in music is as awesome as, if not more enjoyable than, identity crisis-free formats. Bipolar wins when it comes to audible execution, at least in this instance.

For Metric’s “last song,” Haines sat down on the edge of the stage and spoke to us directly. She talked of their being half-Canadian, half-American, gesticulating wildly (as always) while going on about their “four-person planet called Metric.” She seamlessly transitioned into discussing the next number, which would require “massive love,” on behalf of everyone within earshot. And thus they broke into “Stadium Love,” the last track on Fantasies. With its pulsating percussion and killer keyboard (courtesy of Winstead, who took a break from bass), this animal-reference-packed ditty brought out Haines’ wild side; she crawled on all fours and oozed sex symbol, her locks shooting in all directions, looking like a post-coital casualty. The leopard statues (don’t ask) situated on either side of the stage had nothing on her unbridled beauty and untamed approach to performing. This was particularly evident during her bouts of head-banging while attacking the keyboard.

The hiatus between “last song” and encore invited much hooting and hollering that emerged from hoarse throats around the room as a collective roar. Fitting. Metric returned to play their ever-famous “Monster Hospital,” encouraging the sea of devotees to sing along, acoustic-style. Their request was met. So relieving when fans know what words to sing, which all too often doesn’t happen. Not so with Metric. Their last song called for lighters to be held high; “Verizon lighter? Sprint lighter? T-Mobile lighter?” Emily insisted everyone raise them in the air. No one dared deny her, and who would want to? “This part of the night is always my favorite… this is our sweet dreams lullaby.” Several “I love yous" were released from loose-lipped listeners, and then Metric dove into “Live It Out,” a song that truly tests Haines’ range. She passed with flying colors, nailing the deep parts. She ambled down from the stage and took time to high-five the front row, proving that, indeed, it pays to arrive early and remain immobile behind the barricade until the curtain finally falls.

All-in-all, Metric measured up. “Front Row” (Fantasies) could have been less static, with its fuzzy bass that drowned out Haines’ angelic lyrics, but, besides this technical setback, and a couple sorely missed songs (“Combat Baby,” anyone?) their performance shined bright. They’re one of the most engaging and entertaining rock bands -– thanks to the winsome and daring Haines -– I’ve witnessed live in a while. Almost makes me want to pack up and migrate towards our northern neighbor, home to myriad amazing artists. Oh well. Eventually all acts pass though this city and, more often than not these days, it would seem, dope bands tend to make a pit stop at this very station. Suppose I’ll just set up shop; stay tuned for Phoenix come Monday.

Photos by Pearse Daly