So, someone has been bugging me to write about this show. It's me. That someone is me. But we're going to have to keep it short. The year is almost over, there are a thousand places to be, and a million things to do before I go there. Still, there's something Kansas City about this show that requires a few words.

Flooding started the night. I used to see the local trio several times a month when they first started out. I sang their praises to anyone who would listen. I tried to find music fans who would be interested in manic songs that shifted from slowcore to hardcore instantly and often. And to entice listeners to see the band in DIY venues with small stages and bad sound. I found takers, but the group found more on its own. They also found friends with reach, and they found themselves on bigger national tours. And while they have in no way abandoned those local DIYs, they're now able to climb on the stage at RecordBar and transfix a crowd of hundreds. The threesome is led by Rose Brown (vocals/guitar) with Cole Billings (bass) and Zach Cunningham (drums) building the chaotic framework around her. Quiet portions sounded like Slint, utilizing whispered lyrics, scraping strings, and accent plinks picked above the nut. Loud portions sounded like a demon breaking free during an earthquake. There were only a few moments in the middle – noisy passages with structure and art, but still full of uncertain danger. Between songs Brown let her guitar hang and scream in feedback. She also did that between notes. Pretty arpeggios that once earned the band lazy Duster comparisons were often pinned in place by enormous roars of distortion. On the other side of the stage, Billings' fingered bass churned through tracks while Cunningham reveled in tension. Then the trio let everything out and Brown screamed in catharsis. The room was mesmerized by the half-hour set, and all Brown could say was, "We're Flooding. From here." See them at a DIY, see them at a big hall, see them on the road, see them in your backyard, but just see them.

Sweeping Promises wasn't born here. I didn't see the band's first show or watch it come together. It relocated to the area (Lawrence, Kansas, specifically) fully formed, with champions and a record label and international tours already behind it. The joy of seeing an act like that is different. It's stark and colored by expectation. It's no less engaging though. Sweeping Promises is married duo Lira Mondal (vocals/bass) and Caulfield Schnug (guitar) with live help from touring drummer Spenser Gralla. The trio plays post-punk. The best kind of post-punk with jagged edges and energy and chaos, just like Wire and Gang of Four and The Slits taught us 45 years ago. The songwriting duo has added their own tricks, but the throughline is there. A lot of those tricks came from Mondal's voice. It was strong through several registers, and she used it to sing and shout and yelp and make all sorts of interesting noises. She controlled it when it was a strong vibrato, when it slid cleanly through an entire clef, and when it was a wicked and piercing scream. Her bass was also versatile – sometimes it bludgeoned, sometimes it danced through funk. Schnug played the same songs as Mondal, but the two's musical lines were seldom cooperative, and sometimes they were combative. He moved up and down the neck manically as his wonderfully thin and shrill tone cut through everything. He wore his guitar high – that's a sure sign of a dangerous player. He moved around the stage a lot and jumped just as much. He's tall and 90% of that is legs. Mondal joked that the high RecordBar ceiling would provide him space for his acrobatics, contrasting it to the low ceiling of the DIY venue that was played the night before. Schnug agreed, shouting across the stage, "That show hurt." As expected, the banter between the couple was relaxed. Mondal was just as open with the audience whether she was introducing new songs, calling for Palestinian sovereignty, sharing her gratitude for Sweeping Promises' amazing year, or showing off her pylon earrings while remembering seeing Pylon on the same stage months earlier. We've had some good bands leave the area, so it's nice when a great one chooses us.

When headliners Boys Life were starting out in Kansas City, I was living in Indiana. I didn't see its shows at The Outhouse or The Daily Grind, but I bought its records. In 1996 a 10" split with Christie Front Drive landed in my mailbox. I made plans to move to Kansas City, arriving in 1997, just weeks after the band broke up. Its members flew apart after that. To other projects, and to other cities. Twenty-seven years later the group has reunited to celebrate a massive reissue of its entire discography in the form of a vinyl boxset from Numero Group. Reunited for two shows anyway. The quartet started with "Golf Hill Drive" from its first album, following it up with three more from the same self-titled album. The foursome played them just like they should – emo but warm and open and midwestern. Guitarists Brandon Butler and Joe Winkle played stomping distortion one minute and picked through soft arpeggios the next. Three cuts from the second album followed. "Sleeping Off Summer" sounded good. Bassist John Rejba and drummer John Anderson built the song slowly. When Anderson hit the bell of his cymbal it brought me back. Each composition was punctuated with stops and wound through unexpected turns, building toward climaxes that never came. Then there was a surprise – four new ones from an upcoming EP to be released this spring. Each sounded like Boys Life, just less mathy, and more fluid. Additionally, Butler's voice has deepened, so these tunes don't revisit his off-key emo whine. Those who followed Butler to the post-Boys Life project Canyon, are familiar with this shift.

Throughout the set Butler was relaxed. He shared stories about the band's old practice space only a block from the RecordBar. Two songs later he'd pick up the thread, adding more to the story, and sharing his joy at being back in Kansas City – a city he explained would always be home for the act. The large audience watched in admiration. Most stood attentively, some closed their eyes, thumped their chests, and shook their heads, demonstrating the universal sign of post-hardcore appreciation. When the band returned for an encore, it was with "Fire Engine Red" again from the second album followed by the expansive "Two Wheeled Train" from that split with Christie Front Drive. I melted as the slightly-abridged version of the song slowly developed, moving through quiet dissonance to explosion. Finally, I had experienced the Boys Life show that inspired my move to Kansas City decades ago.