God, it was great. Seldom does a set by a three-chord punk band not just move you, but give you hope, joy, and belly-deep laughs by the dozen. Thor had the kind of palpable stage presence that you get from having once been famous, and the audience responded to him accordingly; he stood out in the lobby giving away autographed photographs to awestruck indie rockers (who aren’t used to performers with a strong work ethic) until well after two a.m. Of course I got one. Mine says: “To the Mountain Goats: Rock the City! Thor.” I spoke with him twice that evening, and he was an entirely unpretentious, disarmingly friendly guy, the sort of conversationalist who makes you think the world’s not such a bad place after all. And wasn’t this, in the end, really what indie rock was all about in the first place: music by human beings made mainly for one another’s enjoyment? Olympia was a blast as always, and Thor stands as a beacon to Olympia’s future; nobody can make you uncool, after all, if you know you’re cool.