Once upon a time, the Shins played Milwaukee's Eagles Club for a packed house. Short of unicorns and fluttering pixies, it was as fantastical an evening as the mood to most Shins songs. I don't think I'm alone when I say the Shins will be remembered. Oh, Inverted World and Chutes Too Narrow were instant indie classics. Their minimalist production and effortless beauty feel almost accidental upon first listen. As a novice Shins listener, I was astonished: "There has to be some catch. Maybe the lyrics suck. DAMN, those are good too!" The Shins create a mood unlike any of their contemporaries. It's as if you're being whisked away to a fable, full of dragons and castles and princesses to save. OK, maybe that's just me. Once I heard their third full-length album, Wincing the Night Away, I decided enough was enough; it would be a sin to never see the Shins live. I would see them even if it entailed taking the hour-or-so trek to Milwaukee. The New Mexicans' approach to their current tour of North America and the UK seems to be one of utter confidence. Whereas most bands make a point of playing every song off a new album before begrudgingly rehashing old favorites, Friday's set list felt like a best-of compilation — an arrangement of songs fit for a Shins cover band. To put this into perspective, the quartet chose "Caring is Creepy," one of their first and most famous singles, as the grand finale (minus the two encores to come). The portentous music critic in me wanted to sneer at the Shins for catering to the Garden State crowd, but the unrelenting Shins fan within couldn't help but salute their naiveté. In the land of Shins concerts, cliché's are not just excused, but — if you can get past your pretensions — fun to embrace. A personal highlight of the show was swaying a lighter to the morosely beautiful "New Slang," a song whose video, mind you, depicts a schoolboy strolling along a deserted railroad track. Yet nothing about the scene was tacky — not even those who waved cell phone lights in lieu of lighters. The crowd was not entirely made up of run-of-the-mill indie fans. Sure, there were enough black hoodies and white Converses to make me think I'd gone colorblind, but the jock to my right, who spilled beer on me every time the band started a song from the Garden State soundtrack, created an odd contrast. I couldn't help but wonder whether the Shins, who express nothing but gratitude toward Garden State in interviews, secretly resent playing for the type of kids who would have shoved them in lockers in high school or whether they're beginning to get annoyed with the never-ending "Shins will change your life" puns by the press that might follow them to their career's end. Sonically speaking, it was no Radiohead concert. Frontman James Mercer seemed to struggle with some of his own high notes, most noticeable a squeaky "TO-AH-LD" in "Kissing the Lipless" — but you try hitting that note. As expected, the sycophantic crowd was more than forgiving. When you've got songs as flawless as "Saint Simon" and "Phantom Limb" in your arsenal, a performance out of your mom's garage would have an audience enraptured. Mercer and the gang did exactly what I hoped for and allowed those of us who missed them the first and second time around to still experience the classics from their first two albums. The concert was a success … and the Shins lived happily ever after.