If there were any justice in rock ‘n’ roll, 2003 would have been the year of the Nada Surf revival. The group’s arduous touring schedule would’ve yielded overwhelming crowds and a dozen magazine covers. The faint glimmer of 1996’s fluke single “Popular” would’ve finally faded into the distance as its new album, Let Go, was discovered by a new generation—or maybe the same one all over again, now older and wiser. But of course, rock ‘n’ roll doesn’t abide by the laws of fairness, and sometimes the best bands slip under the radar, lost in the frenzy of the newest fad and brightest flash.

So 2003 remained unfairly quiet for Nada Surf, and the end of a year-long tour found the Brooklyn band opening for friends/labelmates Death Cab For Cutie. Under the dim lighting of W.O.W. Hall, a crowd mostly too young to remember “Popular” (and the song’s video featuring dancing cheerleaders and showering football players) tried to figure out why the name of the trio onstage sounded so familiar. But singer/guitarist Matthew Caws gave only a brief introduction: “We’ll play the first song first, so there’s no confusion.”

Caws then quietly attacked Let Go leadoff track “Blizzard Of ‘77,” his lone acoustic guitar cutting through the half-empty room. As bassist and backing vocalist Daniel Lorca came in with the harmony, the crowd was slowly drawn closer toward the barely raised stage. The atmosphere took on a campfire quality as Caws’ voice mourned “In the middle of the night I worry/It’s blurry even without light.” A bold song to open a set with—or to begin an album with, for that matter—the sunshine-melancholy tune about a deadly snowstorm fell eerily over those gathered, still shaking off their scarves and hats from the year’s first snowfall earlier in the day. An almost uncomfortable hush filled the room as the final notes rang out, but was ended with an avalanche of grateful, enthusiastic applause.

Nodding graciously, the band quickly launched into “Inside Of Love.” Although it received comparatively little radio play (mostly on the college stations), it was that song you always heard in coffee shops and instantly brought a sense of, “Ooh, those guys” over the audience. But at the same time, the crowd was growing restless; this year’s drizzle of slower, wanna-be power ballads had left music aficionados everywhere hungry for something more than the wistful, mid-tempo waltz.

The macho, power-chord intro of “High Speed Soul” announced a change. A moment later, with drummer Ira Elliot’s relentless pounding, the song gave way to jaded lyrics—“Do you ever think that what we call real life/Is not so real?”—and tightly woven three-part vocals, all while building guitar tension that ultimately released with the same groovy bass line. Caws’ freestyle riffing extended comfortably long past the song’s traditional ending.

The oldest song from the band’s catalog to make an appearance tonight was “Stalemate” from 1996’s High/Low. Flaunting a catchy, goth/surf bass line, the band cleverly segued into a brief-yet-notable cover of Joy Division’s “Love Will Tear Us Apart.” But the absence of another song from High/Low was glaringly obvious. At one point, the expected drunken requests occurred (“‘Popular’! Play ‘Popular’!”), to which an equally vehement fan commanded the band, “No!”

And maybe this is the right thing for Nada Surf. Who knows how many newly converted fans went home that night and downloaded songs with titles like “Killian’s Red” and “Blonde On Blonde” or who bashfully approached Caws afterward at the merch table to deliver a shy-yet-heartfelt compliment? Perhaps Nada Surf is best appreciated in the quiet, unexpected moments like those found in Eugene—a pleasant surprise and small hope that rock ‘n’ roll does follow a set of rules, ones too complex and bittersweet to understand.