That unfathomable day found me stunned in the company lunchroom, watching it unfold in disbelief. Later in the afternoon, still unable to absorb the heart-scarring reality of what had happened, I guiltily stuck to my original plan of picking up the new Mercury Rev record. Street date: Sept.11, 2001. Title: All Is Dream. Oh, how we all wish that were true.

Three months exactly since the darkest day we hopefully will ever see, Mercury Rev brought its narcotic, dreamy rock to bear, culling most of its set from 1998’s breakthrough, Deserter’s Songs, and the pretty, fragile All Is Dream. The band succeeded, for an unknown stretch of time, in making me forget everything else that had ever happened outside this club.

Jonathan Donahue, diminutive but no less magnetic focal point of the band (and prone to theatrical gestures), led the Rev through entrancing, compelling tales of love, magical moments, dreams and other mystical laments. With a silver ashtray affixed to his microphone stand, Donahue puffed on cigarettes and gazed at the crowd with a piercing stare that was intense and wondrous, not creepy. He looked as lost in the music as we were, never saying much more than “thanks” with a smile after songs.

And the songs were amazing, with the orchestral hugeness of much of their recent albums magnificently re-cast as gorgeous, cinematic rock. Two keyboardists kept songs like “Holes” and “Tonite It Shows” (the one-two opening punch from Deserter’s Songs) rooted in their ethereal origins, but the muscular electric-guitar playing of both Donahue and the enigmatic Grasshopper (complete with shades and a cool demeanor) transformed them into something greater.

Set against ambitious lighting design synchronized effectively to the music’s moodswings, new songs like “You’re My Queen” and “Little Rhymes” pulsed with near-anthemic choruses and sparkling, moody flourishes, while “Spiders And Flies” and “Lincoln’s Eyes” were driven by soft guitars and stark piano. Evidence to the fact the crowd was sufficiently enraptured came during the aforementioned “Lincoln’s Eyes,” when Donahue cooed, “And knows when you're lying/Comes to a dead stop” and the sound dropped completely out. Such a moment might have revealed the usual crowd noise, but not a soul in this house could be heard.

Goodbye came in the form of the romantic “Dark Is Rising,” with cymbal crashes and swelling synthesizers giving way to Donahue’s lilting voice serenading us: “I never dreamed I’d hurt you/I never dreamed I’d lose you/In my dreams, I’m always strong.” Ending the song with the same line, Donahue struck a flexed-muscle pose, backlit in hazy white light, and held it as the music melted away. Theatrical, yes, but maybe also a message: While all is not dream, the world isn't a complete mess, and we might be stronger than we think.

- Doug Sell