RecordBar is a marvelous venue. Full stop. Marvelous for many reasons, but mostly because it's run by wonderful people. That’s precisely why I never know what to expect when I come to a show. Occasionally co-owner Steve Tulipana will book a show for an old friend or for an artist that he's a fan of without regard to commercial viability. If it's a gig he wants to see, that's sometimes good enough. As I walked to RecordBar on a lovely spring evening, I wondered if Brant Bjork was booked with Steve's head or his heart.

Violenteer opened the night just after eight o'clock. Steve Tulipana is in this band because playing shows with your friends is fun. But as a local, he's a bit of an outlier – everyone else in the quartet is based in Omaha. The project is led by brothers Randy and Barry Cotton. Curiously, they both play bass. The drummer, Nathan Bolt, was only playing his second gig with the group, but he was up to the challenge. The act seems comfortable with the noise rock moniker, but there's more to it. For example, sometimes space opens and elements of post-punk shine through. And although the live show only hints at the experimental post-rock, the musicians fully embrace that urge in the studio. How the sound is created is complicated. Randy Cotton's bass isn't very bass-like. He often moves up the neck for leads. There are plenty of effects, and his bass sounds like an organ more than once in the set. Barry Cotton usually anchors the songs. His tone is big and meaty. Wolf is a math rock drummer. He plays complicated lines and tumbling rhythms. Sometimes he locks into a groove with his compatriots, creating something more akin to groove metal than austere krautrock. On stage these compositions become insistent and are always on the tense verge of a surge or eruption. Tulipana's vocals are processed and looped and distorted to bizarre lengths. Except for when they're clean. Often there's a haunting, Pete Steele quality to them. He often sings with his eyes closed and his face pointed to the sky er venue ceiling. He triggers dialogue samples that generally lead off songs and occasionally reappear in the middle. His synth lines compete with the other instruments. Does it sound chaotic? Sometimes it is. Sometimes it’s also tight and engaging. This was one of those nights. Each piece in the forty-minute performance was a winner, but it was a new one that floored me by piling everything that the band does well into one song. Sadly, Tulipana didn't introduce the song. In fact, Tulipana didn't talk much between numbers at all. He offered one bit of character clarification in the middle of the set, and later offered a brief thank you before triggering more dialogue samples that, along with the hum of abandoned basses, signaled the end of the set.

The audience liked Violenteer. Maybe two hundred of them filled the room nicely. Most were dudes in their forties and fifties. Beards were prevalent. So was the smell of stale cigarettes. What little I knew about the headliner had me expecting more cannabis than tobacco. Turns out I didn't have the headliner pegged quite right.

Brant Bjork Trio is led by Brant Bjork. Duh. He's a co-founder of Kyuss. He's played through Fu Manchu's most successful period. He's also in three hundred other bands. Some have released albums, some only appear when the moon is shining on a secret peyote patch in the Mojave Desert. The rest of this trio are no slouches. Bassist Mario Lalli and Mike Amster have long resumes and impressive bona fides. If the group has a mission, it might be to bring the desert rock scene they’ve developed in their hometown of Palm Desert, California to the world. If it has another mission, it's likely to just kick ass. Bjork walked on stage to loud cheers. He looked like he just stepped off his Harley – just as ragged and worn as I’d hoped. He had no interest in banter. Hell, even vocals seemed to be an afterthought. When he did approach the microphone, his voice was warm, laid back, a little gruff and squarely in the blues rock tradition. His guitar was too. It howled with blues, classic rock, and psychedelic rock, aided by lots of bends and a fair amount of wah-wah pedal. Lalli was a joy to watch as he pulsed to and fro. His fingers were percussive, and he made long slides up the neck of his bass. In most bands he would be overpowering, but Amster didn't allow that. He was just as busy on his drums. He kept time on his ride cymbal, kept the tempos quick, and summoned fills that provided relief when grooves threatened to otherwise stretch to infinity. I expected slower, sparser compositions. But I was wrong, and it took most of the set for me to finally tune in to the band's vibe. It happened during "Low Desert Punk." I watched as Bjork smiled through gritted teeth as he wrestled his guitar. He played this one standing sideways, sharing the moment with his bandmates rather than the audience. I suspect it was his favorite moment of the set. It was certainly the one where I lost myself in the trio’s steady hypnotic rhythm and fuzzy guitar.

When the threesome returned for an encore, Bjork finally addressed the crowd, sharing a story about Kansas City bar-b-que. We hear a lot of those, but we're pretty proud of it, so fair play. Newly reinvigorated, the group then played an eight-minute version of "U.R. Free" before closing with a similarly expansive telling of "Freaks of Nature." Even after ninety-five minutes, the audience wanted more, but that was all there would be. As I walked home and I began to wrap my head around the show, I recalled seeing Steve standing in the audience, bobbing his head to Brant Bjork Trio. He definitely booked this one with his heart, and, thankfully, Kansas City’s heart was with him.