The Hidden Cameras are that most rare of things: A much-talked-about Toronto band deserving of much talk.

It's not surprising that the collective of between six and 15 musicians and dancers has become a topic for discussion. Famously tagged by founder, songwriter and frontman Joel Gibb as a combo specializing in "gay church folk music" (that's "gay" in both senses of the word), the Cameras offer live shows full of beautiful music and male go-go dancers -- often in venues well off the beaten path.

Which explains the Cameras' upcoming concert -- sans go-go dancers -- at the First Baptist Church on Elgin St., a suitable setting for gay church folk.

"It's better to play churches," Gibb says of eschewing the rock-club circuit, "because it can be all ages and you can structure the show however you want. And there are no bouncers to deal with. It's a better environment, generally."

And if themes like a passion for golden showers and a call to ban the institution of marriage are not standard church fare, the disarming music of the Cameras is surely praiseworthy.

The band's album, The Smell of Our Own, is a solid contender for Top 10 lists on both sides of the Atlantic, thanks in no small part to a fortuitous deal with the noted U.K.-based Rough Trade label.

"I sent them a rough mix of the album and they called me," Gibb says of securing the distribution deal. "It's too easy."

The infectious nature of the Cameras' songs almost does make it all sound too easy. And Gibb claims to have a backlog of several songs that will see the light in future releases like next year's Mississauga Goddamn (a clever play on a controversial Nina Simone song title).

The sincere gay-church-folk master seems to be adjusting to the inevitable glare of the spotlight -- though he insists he comes bearing no overt message.

"I take care with what I write," Gibb admits, "because I know my lyrics could be analyzed. But I'm not really that political. Most of my songs are quite ambivalent, in terms of the politics."

In other words, just because a songwriter presents a work called Ban Marriage, it shouldn't be assumed he wants to, say, mess with the tradition of marriage.

"That's not a gay-rights song at all," Gibb insists. "It's attacking the idea; there are a couple of lyrics that actually stand up for the idea of keeping the Scripture static.

"If you're gonna have faith, if you're gonna have a doctrine or a text that you're gonna live by, the text can't change over time. That's a silly idea. At least Catholicism has that ideal, if you're gonna be religious. Which I'm not."

Gibb pauses. "First and foremost," he concludes, "we're a pop band."