Part 73 in my never-ending "The Kids Are Alright" series takes us to the Harrison Street DIY. The spectacular but unofficial skate park sits in a precarious city-owned cul-de-sac in Columbus Park. It may soon be cleared to make way for affordable housing and townhomes – somewhat of an injustice according to its patrons. But that is another article for another publication. My visit to the park was not to ride, revolt, nor mourn, but rather to capture a rock 'n' roll happening.

Twilight was truly over by 7:30 when Meat Cleaver began its opening set from one of the park's many bowls. Banked concrete walls hemmed the quartet in on three sides, leaving the fourth open to an audience that began dancing the moment the first distorted note sounded. Above the band a gas-powered generator complained loudly as it provided the necessary power to amplify instruments and the one microphone clutched by vocalist JJ. He paced, he screamed, he charged the crowd. The spectators moved from side to side, sometimes rhythmically and en masse, sometimes in short sudden bursts of solo adrenaline. Judith urged them on, playing quickly-shifting power chords on a guitar that squealed with feedback. Eventually he'd decide that there was more fun to be had in the among the dancers and launch himself into the crowd, becoming a sort of bowling ball, rolling across the smooth, rounded concrete floor, knocking down every human pin he could find. When the songs held together, it was thanks to Solomon's rattling bass and Bob's d-beat drumming, but much of the fourteen-minute set didn't hold together at all. Of course that was never the point. Meat Cleaver is about releasing the power of chaos, and that goal was met from the first note to the last.

Between acts, day-old bagels were distributed, too many cigarettes were smoked, money was solicited for the touring band, show flyers were peddled, and scene gossip was shared. A hot day had given way to a cool night, perfect for sitting atop a ramp and letting your legs dangle below. I counted sixty kids between the dancers and the watchers. Another twenty still skated the barely lit park, too focused to care about the live soundtrack.

Genre is made up of a different breed of DIY punks than the opener. They aren't pure crust aggressives, but rather cerebral reinventionists. Diyana provided most of the vocals and all the guitar. Waxeka provided bass and more vocals. Often their two voices worked in tandem. Their instruments told a twitchy story pioneered by post-punk outfits like Pylon in the late 1970s and carried on by countless indie pop bands since. When Beau's short erratic synth lines shone through, songs brightened considerably. Drummer Aoife wore large sound dampening headphones and swung their sticks with gusto. The audience danced, but its movement involved fewer collisions and more swaying. Like the foursome before them, many of Genre's songs broke down into chaos. There were lines that didn't mesh, instruments that weren't on the same page, and loose compositions that simply unraveled. But when the firing order was perfected, Genre was masterful and its energy unstoppable. That's also a fine lead-in to the headliners.

Austin's Guiding Light seems to be cut from the same cloth. The quartet is fronted by Elise Cook. Their vocals were choppy and their dance moves bouncy. John Morales was a very busy guitarist delivering a bit of jangle and a whole lot of quick strumming. Bassist Rachel Kirk provided the post-punk quirk while drummer Charles Powell added urgency, never letting up on his snare and hi-hat even when delivering short fills. The audience followed suit, bopping and bouncing throughout the short twenty-two-minute set. Some danced as if Charles Schulz had drawn them. Others preferred the pushing and falling with their cooperative peers. Self-described pop song, "Shackled by Lust," was the unmistakable highlight with its dry vocals, infectious chorus, bounding bass, relentless strum and pop, and no-nonsense two-minute runtime. Luckily for us all, it leads off the band's new album Fear On My Own Time, now available at all the finest record stores – you know, just in case your skate park doesn't host unsanctioned Guiding Light gigs.