Once upon a time a few bands crossed paths at Hillsiders and someone decided to make a festival out of it. For a year or two it remained low-key, but by the fourth installment it… well, it stayed low-key and that's what's great about Lost Weekend Fest. Night one of this fourth iteration saw five groups from five states delivering rock 'n' roll, garage, and power pop for fans of rock 'n' roll, garage, power pop, and hard livin'. Maybe what happens at Lost Weekend Fest should stay at Lost Weekend Fest, so here are some highlights with the names removed to protect the unquestionably guilty.

The night opened with Pimp Magic Guts from Kansas. They didn't start at the advertised 8:30 because Hillsiders is not The Met. The band played as a quintet. I hear there's normally a sixth member dedicated to synths. I'd like to see that. The act is post-punk built on disco-punk drumming, synth beds or sequenced arpeggios, wiry guitar, and a bold, repetitive, and somewhat groovy bass. There was a singer who shook her hips and danced the heels off her white go-go boots. After a few songs she announced her elaborate eye makeup was "raining hell" into her eyes. Oh, and there was a Peaches cover, and it worked well.

Wet Denim from Indiana played. I'd see the four-piece every day if I could. The singer must gargle razor blades. Somehow the bass player's backing vocals were just as raw. I'd blame whiskey but the boys were only drinking water. The set was garage rock – and power-pop and punk and definitely rock 'n' roll. There were plenty of fast leads and ripping solos. The drums provided a marvelous bounce that played perfectly along the ginormous hooks. "Bad Impression" certainly passes the American Bandstand Rate-a-Record "It's got a good beat and you can dance to it" test. And the two new digitally-released teaser singles – "Double Fister" and "Flatlined" – sounded just as good live. It was only right that the band dedicated its performance to the recently deceased Ace Frehley.

Wayne Pain & the Shit Stains are from Missouri, but the trio cross the border to play at Hillsiders every few weeks. I'm there to catch them more times than not. The band's animalistic, nihilistic, sociopathic proto-punk is pure. Its knowledge of freaked-out garage rock is admirable. There was fire this night. Fan-favorite "I'm Gunna F*ck Your Wife" was delivered with extra venom. The guitar solo in "Tits from the Shadows" was inspired. The banter was hilariously dry. After announcing the final song would be "Baby, I Hate You," the audience let out a disappointed "Awwww." Kupfer shot back, "It's not about an actual baby – it's about a girl." Bless you Wayne Pain.

Illinois chipped in with Criminal Kids. The sound wasn't so far from the acts that played before: punk, rock 'n' roll, maybe punk 'n' roll. The arrangements were dense. The first three songs were a constant barrage that left the audience gasping for air. The fourth gave the audience a bit of space with nice bass runs. Compositions dripped with solos and leads. The drummer went 100 mph and jettisoned his shirt after the first number. The vocalist baited the crowd, "Are you bored? You look bored." It was a lot, but then the band won me back with a cover of power-pop uber-hit "A Million Miles Away." All's well that ends well.

[video removed to avoid prosecution]

Terry Malts call Kentucky home nowadays. The band is a quintet and not one damn member has the sense to be named Terry Malts. The act is indie pop, revved up with power-pop, and painted over with a thick coat of lead-based punk rock chaos. The singer stumbled against the audience and more than once found himself sprawled on the ground – half his body on the low stage, the remainder resting on the floor. While he wasn't as drunk as he appeared to be, the audience definitely was. The ten-song set began after midnight with "I'm Neurotic" from 2012's Slumberland-released Killing Time. A Chills cover followed soon after. Then were new ones delivered with gusto. Older tunes returned at the end to bring the set – and the first night of Lost Weekend Fest IV – to a close. My legal team advises that I say no more.