Hillsiders had never been more packed. I don't want to tip off the fire marshal, or give more ammunition to the venue's haters, but if you wanted to get from one side of the shotgun-style bar to the other last Thursday, going outside, circling the fire pit, jumping the fence, walking around the block, and coming in the other door was probably the easiest route. I pondered that path more than once, hoping my route would leave a dotted line à la Billy from Family Circus.

The mob was already in place before opener Lyxe (pronounced "likes") even took the stage. The Lawrence, Kansas trio always draws a rambunctious crowd with an unwavering need to party. During every break, bassist A.J. Knudson's banter poured alcohol on that desire, ensuring the throng remained frenzied. Vocalist/guitarist Ryan Wise and drummer Jimmy Girod smiled incredulously as chief instigator Knudson did his work. Curiously, it's not the gregarious Knudson, but the comparatively reserved Wise who drives the band. Most know him from the long-running group the Sluts, but Lyxe is a different animal. For this project, riffs took a backseat to melodic guitar lines thoughtfully colored by effects pedals not just labeled "distortion." He still rocked sizeable solos, and even let a little of that Slutty growl out, but there was more to focus on in this project. Similarly, Wise's vocals were more nuanced. He shifted smoothly from singing to shouting, distinguishing both with a hoarse break. The players around him built up catchy songs often characterized as new wave, though my ears heard something later in the '80s. Have they played with 90 Minute Cassette? They should. And they should play that "Ice Cream" tune because it's really catchy. And that "Wave" song because it's a banger too. Everyone in the room agreed, pushing forward, and dancing as much as they could without sending the entirety of the room tumbling against the bar.

Between sets I thought about retreating to the patio, but a cold front had moved in, and that firepit was unlikely to counter it. There was also a real possibility that I'd never make it back to my camera bag if I left it – not that it mattered much, the crowd made photography nearly impossible. So instead, I guarded my chair in the corner and watched the throng roil around me.

Grady Philip Drugg was the touring artist sandwiched in the middle. I should have known him from his not-so-distant past in emo acts like Grammer, but nothing sparked my memory, and Too Much Rock didn't provide me with anything more. But that isn't Drugg's bag anymore anyway. For years and a handful of albums he's been making music built on country but filtered through everything that has crossed his path. For this short tour Drugg brought along his acoustic guitar and a full band consisting of guitarist Jackson Lawhead, keyboardist Zaida Wade, bassist Charlie Jones, and drummer Ian Keiser. Most were role players, with Lawhead offering the biggest impact with meaty solos and leads that rang out. Wade offered foundations more than melodies, though her Moog sung during "Real Life," and that solo during Del Shannon's "Runaway" was delightful. Jones found space to wiggle, leaving only Keiser and Drugg to carry the rhythm. Arrangements aside, it's Drugg's name the group tours under, and it's his songs – and specifically his lyrics – that captivated the audience. Before playing the delightfully catty "Chemical Boy," Drugg explained that it was about the prima donna frontman he once toured behind. Before playing the AM gold of "Got a Wild Hair" he told the audience it was his "small town nostalgia" song about his hometown of Springfield. That elicited roars from the crowd. It's possible that every person from Springfield between the ages of 21 and 30 was at the bar that night. Drugg and his band gave them all a great show and a taste of home.

Again, I hid in the corner between bands. Folks who tend bar: Are clubs busier than ever, or have I just become claustrophobic? Did the pandemic break me in yet another way I'm just now realizing? Good Lord.

The night's headliner was They're Theirs. A year ago, vocalist/guitarist Chase Horseman put together a nameless band to play their solo material. It seemed to be a low-stakes affair at the time. Since then, however, new songs have been written, older ones rewritten, a style and voice defined, and the trio (completed by experienced players bassist Sky Cowdry and drummer Ian Dobyns) has been given a name.

They're Theirs started its set with a rowdy number. Indie rock all the way, with Horseman's guitar doing a lot of the work. It carried most of the set providing odd tones from (I suspect) odd tunings on several different guitars. What effects pedals didn’t make novel, post-punk bravery did. When Horseman and their crew had enough of grooves, the pace slowed substantially. Post-rock expansiveness left room for each player to shine and the crowd to nod their heads to the rising and falling waves. The seas were often rough, with powerful crashes happening on the downbeats. Backing vocals all around were able to smooth and soothe, setting the scene for Horseman's lead vocals that shifted from confidently demanding to emotionally fraught as needed. Between songs Horseman was just as effective, holding the audience's attention with a confidence I'd not seen from them before. A room stuffed with revelers and yet all eyes were on Horseman, hanging on their every word. It had to be a magical night for the musician who is dealing with all sorts of trials in their life. So, let's hope things calm for them, that these songs make it to vinyl, and that this band continues to play out with this line-up – just maybe in a bigger venue next time.