If you look at the slate of upcoming concerts on the Too Much Rock website, you'll see most gigs list the local opener rather than the touring headliner. This is how I decide what shows to attend. While I generally don't recognize the headlining acts, I know the locals – often personally. If the venues and promoters are doing their jobs well, the inclusion of a cherished local as the opener is a sign that I will appreciate the entire bill. Kosmic City must know this too.

At exactly 8:00 Religion of Heartbreak took the stage. This act comes with a lot of history in the way of former names, former musical visions, and former members, but the reason you give yourself a new name is to make a fresh start, so we'll all try to move on. The current duo of Dedric Moore (keys/guitar/vocals) and Mikal Shapiro (vocals) has mostly done that. The twosome is now a focused post-punk affair. There's warm synth-pop with some delightfully rough edges, it's dark wave but not dour, and many songs feature raw Killing Joke-styled guitars, minus all the aggression. It's danceable, and Shapiro did just that. No choreography or intentional movement, instead she allowed herself to be moved by the music. Moore's stage presence was less enchanted and more attentive. Old compositions written by former member Krysztof Nemeth were played – you'll remember that I said that they've MOSTLY moved on – as were new ones. One promising unreleased cut found Shapiro adopting a John Lydon-esque yelp. Another brought in elements of house. If you're a local you already know Religion of Heartbreak, if you're from outside of the region, now's your chance to embrace the wonderful band as it exists now.

Yama Uba were up next. What's a Yama Uba? A sort of wild Japanese witch that lures in the unsuspected then springs upon them. But Oakland's Yama Uba aren't going to sneak up on anyone. Clad entirely in black, adorned in chains, drenched in make-up, and coifed dangerously, the duo of Akkiko Sampson (vocals/bass) and Winter Zora (guitar/sax/vocals) make their intentions known from a block away. But intentions aren't always reality. Kosmic City has a new sound engineer, which should pay off in the future, but in the present he gave the performers a bad mix with none of the instruments or vocals they wanted and all of the feedback. As he scrambled to address the issues on an unfamiliar sound board, drab static lights left the band lost in undesirable shadows and burnt in hot spots. The pair made the best of it. Sampson's voice was dynamic. The lows were impressive – especially during a cover of Sinéad O'Connor's "The Emperor's New Clothes." Their bass work was hypnotic and perfect for any dancing that involves heavy black buckled boots. Zora is tall and thin, topped with a mass of tangled hair that hid their eyes (likely from a cold and uncaring god). Their guitar lines flowed languidly – eschewing both abrasive solos and twinkling filagree. The guitar lead in the final number owed a debt to Daniel Ash in the best possible way. Occasionally they would step to the side of the stage to play a mounted saxophone. The seamless swap was slick. The plaintive wails were generally sublime, offering unique color to the act's capital "G" goth. However, several times the sax parts added a jarringly glossy sheen that clashed with the band's otherwise matte finishes. The sound was completed by synth backing tracks and a very icy drum machine that hissed like The Sisters of Mercy's Doktor Avalanche. Throughout the thirty-five-minute set, the duo proved that they were fighters, keeping the audience engaged and (often) dancing despite the sonic setbacks.

The headliner was Hex Cassette from Denver. Curiously our two touring bands were not touring together but both arrived at Minibar as part of a happy collision orchestrated by Kosmic City. Hex Cassette is the project of Zachary Jordan. Strikingly tall and thin, Jordan operates at a constant eleven. Most of the set found him bouncing on stage, backlit by his synchronized lighting equipment. Other times he could be found skipping through the audience, only stopping to get in the face of stiff audience members. A final, smaller portion of the set found him marching in place, bent over the unseen electronics that he obscured with a white sheet. His vocals were starkly unadorned and loud, and dominated the '80s-esque synth-pop base in an unsettling way. The music matched Jordan's intensity – it's made for dancing, and Jordan was hellbent on getting the crowd to move with him. Initially he berated them, "Is that all you got?!" When the audience replied "Yes" he changed tactics. A circle pit got the crowd loose and moving – well except for the guy in the back that he called out as "normie dude." Bright songs were paired with kitschy themes of death and Satanism. The song "Promicide" tied in with Jordan's book of the same name for sale at the merch booth. He described the paperback as 277 pages of filth. [It's credited to Zachary Graves if you go hunting for a copy – ed.] Once Jordan won the crowd over, he abruptly declared victory and ended his set just short of the half-hour mark, as if to say his work was done.

So, is it a safe bet to show up for a night of unfamiliar bands based solely on a promoter’s reputation and the assurances of the opening group? Maybe not always, but it's a solid strategy when the gig is organized by Kosmic City. Put my theory to the test when the collective presents Ludi: A Summer Dark Music Festival on July 12th. Lots of acts are playing the event, but the local is Reviser, and I assure you that's all you need to know.