Good Kid Come Home: The Can We Hang Out? Tour at Toronto's Danforth Music Hall

Here’s a fact that never stops being funny: Good Kid — one of the most beloved indie rock bands on the internet — started as a hobby between University of Toronto computer science students. They were briefly named Bahen Wolf, after the U of T computer science building, and for one glorious evening, Spaceship Dinosaurs. Frontman Nick Frosst went on to co-found the AI company Cohere after working under the “godfather of AI,” Geoffrey Hinton. On any given day he’s either training neural networks or getting floated over a crowd in an inflatable boat. Tonight was the second kind.

Which makes the Danforth Music Hall the right room for it — the band that came out of U of T, home in Toronto, in the venue they keep coming back to. They booked two nights on the Can We Hang Out? tour, the live rollout of their 2026 album Can We Hang Out Sometime?, and San Antonio’s INOHA warmed things up before Good Kid opened with “Wall” and the floor became one moving mass.

The stage looked handmade because it was: a painted backdrop of cartoon faces, a stack of dead CRT televisions, plastic flowers on every surface. The whole set — and the band’s hand-painted costumes — are the work of their photographer and creative director, Evie. A few songs in, the bubble machines kicked on and the room vanished into a blizzard of soap and phone lights. Of course, for “Bubbly.”

But what makes a Good Kid show a Good Kid show is everything between the songs. At most shows, a song like “Witches” would be the cue for a wall of death — the crowd splitting in two and charging into each other. Good Kid keep the ritual but take the aggression out of it: they call it a wall of friendship, the same run-at-each-other setup reframed into something closer to a group hug than a mosh. One rename, and it tells you everything about this band.

The crowd-surfing basically never stopped. At one point Jacob stopped everything to teach the room proper form — spread your arms, go board-stiff, and let the hands underneath do the work — a quick safety briefing before the whole night turned into one long human conveyor belt. Before long the frontman was out on it himself, flat on his back under the Danforth’s ornate ceiling, still hitting the notes.

Then the bit that shouldn’t work and completely does: Good Kid have a song in Guitar Hero — the plastic-guitar rhythm game — so they pull a fan up to actually play it, live on the game and up on the screen, while the band play the same song behind them. This one came recommended: the fan’s sister had made the case with a handmade sign reading “I beat any% Celeste in 49:05 using a Guitar Hero controller.” Translation for the rest of us — she’d beaten Celeste, a famously brutal platformer, from start to finish in just over 49 minutes, and done it on the toy guitar instead of a real controller. Exactly the deranged credentials you want in a volunteer. “Osmosis,” with a real crowd score.

And when it came time to pick what came next, Nick climbed into an inflatable boat, got passed out over the crowd, and floated around choosing the setlist in real time. A grown man in a dinghy on a sea of hands. You don’t get that on most 1,400-cap stages.

Good Kid share the stage as easily as they share the spotlight with the crowd. The opener, INOHA — a San Antonio indie-rock band who broke out on “Seventh Heaven” and have history with Good Kid — didn’t just clear off after their set: frontman Keanu Bicol came back out to sing on “Aloe Lite” both nights, and by the encore the whole band had spilled back onstage for “Premier Inn.” Even the crew got their moment — the hall spent a good stretch chanting for Paul, the sound tech, until the band relented and played him an actual “Paul Song.” Nobody in the building was just support.

And they made good on it. After the lights came up, the band came down to the barricade by the exit and hung out — signing things, taking selfies, talking to people one conversation at a time. They’d closed the encore with “Premier Inn” alongside INOHA, the whole room screaming it back. For a band whose entire brand is “can we hang out,” it wasn’t a bit — it was the answer. Toronto’s biggest internet rock band, home again, still belonging to the people who found them first.