Saturday night at Replay Lounge, while school was in session – what the hell was I thinking? Actually, I know what I was thinking. I decided that I should get out of the house, see some friends, support trans artists, and not let the election results rob me of all joy. But damn if it didn't take everything I had just to leave the house.

The Sluts started the night. By now everyone knows this rocking duo – especially in their hometown of Lawrence. The twosome packed the bar, playing a forty-minute opening set that lasted into the eleven o'clock hour. A drum and guitar duo doesn't have a lot of sonic options, but guitarist Ryan Wise and drummer Kris Dover don't want options anyway. Big, loud, and simple power chords ring out while brazen drums charge forward. Wise's lyrics glue it all together with universal themes of (failed) love and confusion. The results are sometimes palpable, spurring bodies into involuntary motion. And sometimes it goes entertainingly off the rails. This gig had a bit of both. Before the show started, Wise announced that his drummer was on drugs. Dover seemed groggy. I assumed NyQuil, but maybe that wasn't the case. Either way, he was knackered, standing up between songs to get his bearings and attempting unsuccessfully to bargain for a shorter setlist from his partner. When he missed an intro, Wise ribbed him playfully, "I asked you if you were ready twice!" Wise had problems of his own, dealing with a guitar that frequently lost volume and intensity. A loud, distorted tone is sacrosanct to the act's brand. Without it, Wise was visibly shook. Not so shook that he didn't nail the false harmonics in "Victim" or any of the other bluesy and grungy riffs that have made the band a mainstay for nearly fifteen years. Thankfully, that combination of brash and ramshackle is an endearing quality, spurring patrons to dance closer, hoot louder, and hold their cups higher as the set progressed. The media keeps telling me that Generation Z has killed guitar music, but if it has, the message hasn't reached the middle of the map yet. The Sluts are still slaying.

Between bands, I made small talk with friends, avoided the biggest topic of the week, and looked carefully to discern who was okay and who wasn't. The election was all too new and raw to address head-on, but it silently colored every interaction I had. Others, it seemed, were putting on braver faces.

It was on this uneasy night that Kansas City's The Eradicats made its stage debut. The act is led by couple Josh Thomas (vocals/rhythm guitar) and Kristi Who (bass/vocals). Thomas is a veteran of a dozen bands, including the currently ascending RxGhost. Kristi Who, on the other hand, was playing her first show ever. The line-up is completed by Chris Smead (lead guitar) and Justin Brooks (drums) – both gathered from RxGhost. The set started out rough – monitors not quite right, nerves not quite steady. By the fourth song, "Dune" (about the book), things were clicking. The group's tunes are cheeky, and its lyrics are quirky. "89 Batman" pulls its lyrics from the Michael Keaton/Jack Nicholson Batman film. If you're wondering if it's a delight to see Thomas and Who sing dialogue to one another, it is. Late in the set the quartet debuted one titled "Dave Griffin" about a stunt horse. The act's whimsy never got old, as few of its tracks reached the two-minute mark. This also allowed the performers to fit fourteen songs into a thirty-minute set. That approach, as well as its balance of indie rock and punk, make Guided by Voices an easy comparison. Maybe the band would disagree though; it revealed its inspirations playing covers by They Might Be Giants ("Doctor Worm") and The Ronettes ("Be My Baby"). The latter committed blasphemy by eschewing the most famous drumbeat intro ever, but then more than redeemed itself with a great solo from Smead. Of course, on this first show not everything was perfect. Smead's leads didn't always hit the mark (the metallic guitar on "Mirham" really confused me), and some of the night's compositions were more thought out than others, but there's no doubt the quartet's first show was a rousing success. There's also no doubt that its ample merch (7"s, shirts, buttons, stickers) designed by Who are irresistible. Catch me wearing my new t-shirt at The Eradicats' next gig Friday the fifteenth at Rino.

It was well after midnight at this point. The Replay's patio was nearly impassable, and there were yet more kids waiting on the sidewalk to get in. Exhausted, I managed to weave toward the stage for the headliner. Dozens of others had the same idea, only they moved faster than me. I'd watch the rest of the show through their bobbing heads.

It's not possible to see Kansas City's The Creepy Jingles too often. It is, however, possible to write about them too much. If you want to know about the band, click its name to the right where you'll find a dozen of my descriptions of its live gigs. You'll find coverage dating from its earliest line-ups in 2019 when it rode a wave of psychedelic surf rock, through an era of punky indie pop, and landing at its current incarnation that isn't afraid to mix in powerful driving rock. No matter the era, The Creepy Jingles has always been the project of Jocelyn Nixon, whose voice and guitar (and keyboard) are the act. Drummer Nick Robertson has been around from the start as well. He knows when to stay out of the way, providing support that is vital, yet invisible, like the steel beams that enable a glass skyscraper. Bassist Andrew Woody is more obvious. His bass lines are still steady, but they have flair, and his backing vocals are high and wonderful. On this night they sounded better than ever. Guitarist Wills Van Doorn is the new guy, though it's not right to consider him that anymore. He's now put his stamp on the group, adding leads that draw audiences through compositions, and solos that make audiences stop and listen. Those solos seem to be getting bigger with every show. In 2023, when I first saw him play "Go Tell the Others," his solo was just a note or two bent to oblivion by a whammy bar, but at this show the solo was an eruption of finger taps. The audience loved it and remained mobbed around the foursome for the entirety of the band's forty-minute, fourteen-song set. It too favors short tunes that use succinct bursts of brilliance to orchestrate magic. How could that ever be too much?

It was 1:30 by the time I packed up my camera gear, loaded my bag with Eradicats merch, and made it outside. It would have been later if I hadn't escaped through the loosely secured chained-in smokers' den on the sidewalk. The patio had reached gridlock with more at the door. Bless them all, but I had an hour drive back to Kansas City and although it was nice to put the gloom on pause for a few hours, I had more feckless fretting to get in before the weekend was over.