Throughout June, the Baby Bats Parade package tour crossed the US. It was a tour of four bands and just as many colors.

Black Season Witch was on the stage at 7pm. Two gothic ghouls incongruously named Robert and Jeff took the stage. Jeff was covered in leather and spikes, holding a guitar that chugged and chunked through sludgy songs. Robert's black trench was less extreme. He started on bass, only later settling down with his cello. His heavily processed vocals were crooned Peter Steele style. The sound was industrial – more metal than dance and colored by heavy metal kitsch and cheeky goth winks. Analog drums – or at least an excellent facsimile – provided warmth and chaos. Abstract videos and B-movie clips were projected onto the band. The synchronized video that came with the duo's cover of "Electric Funeral" was riveting. The half-hour set: intriguing. The color of Black Season Witch was, of course, black.

Descartes a Kant was up next. The Mexican quintet consisted of four human members dressed in coordinated jumpsuits and one computer. It's high concept space-age art rock built upon the theatrical template created by Man or Astroman. The computer got top billing. Its interactive UI was mirrored and projected onto the wall behind the stage. Its pre-recorded dialog recreated the narrative arc of the band's latest album, After Destruction. Sandrushka Petrova pushed the buttons, provided vocals, guitar, and excitement. The remaining humans (Ana Christina Mo, Memo Ibarra, and Leo Padua) provided just as much energy. There were synchronized dance moves. There were props. There were catchy songs and guitar chops. I assign Descartes a Kant safety orange.

Gene Loves Jezebel has a fascinating history. It's certainly biopic bait for my Generation X post-punk peers. Why did twin brothers Michael and Jay Aston split the band? How did each decide to front their own version of the project, allowing each to hold dominion over separate continental kingdoms? When the dust settled, Michael Aston got the US, and the stage at Record Bar. At 68 he was a little weathered, a little lethargic, but fit, in good vocal form, and very witty. His backing band of Nick Rozz, Alex Heart, and Jack Steward provided the bubbling bass in "Suspicion," the big drums in "Drive," and all ringing and cutting guitar lines required to recreate the act's post-punk, new romantic alt-rock, and gothic rock hits. Aston announced his hatred for the ebullient "Motion of Love" but played it anyway. I love that song, but it was "Cow" and "Always a Flame" that hit the hardest. I've started scouring the used shops for a copy of Immigrant already. Gene Loves Jezebel was pale apricot like a rose picked two days ago.

Christian Death already has a biopic making the rounds in art house cinemas. I haven't seen it, so I don't know how it treats the band's mid-80s shift that saw Rozz Williams leave the group, effectively turning the project over to Valor Kand. That's a point of contention. Some fans still – 40 years on – see Valor as an illegitimate heir. Talk about holding a grudge.

Valor began the set on his knees, center stage, in a prayer of sorts. To whom is anyone's guess – the band loves to play with religious imagery, to call out its hypocrisy and dogma, and to embrace the occult. Valor wore layers of black. As did longtime partner Maitri Nicolai, David Eve, and newcomer Brody Briggs. When Maitri was freed from her bass she pranced the stage with assured, gothic theatricality. She and Valor polished off a bottle of wine before the second song was over. There was banter and bickering throughout the night. Sometimes it was charming. Sometimes awkward.

Their sixteen-song set spanned the decades, with nearly half coming from the band's most recent album, 2022's Evil Becomes Rule. Surprisingly, these were the best tracks of the night. The hard rocking "The Warning" was particularly enjoyable. As was the accompanying video projected behind the musicians. "Blood Moon" required backing tracks to recreate a vital keyboard line. Maitri whined, "It's stupid. I hate click tracks." Valor explained to his companion that if they didn't use them, they'd need to travel with an orchestra. It was obvious that both the logistics and the argument itself were exhausting to him. Twice the band returned to the Rozz era, most notably for closer "Romeo's Distress." That one came from the 1982 debut when none of the members on stage were in the band. The audience sang the tune's "I'm so tired" refrain with conviction.

There weren't bona fide calls for an encore. But it was obvious one was coming. When the foursome returned to the stage, it played two numbers from 1988, ending with "This Is Heresy." It's from the much-maligned Sex and Drugs and Jesus Christ album. It's obvious that Valor is not concerned with his detractors. Christian Death could only have been a dark, bloody, red.