Slim turned fifty, and that was reason enough for RecordBar to throw a party.

The festivities began at an AARP-approved 7:45 with The Almighty Trouble Brothers. The quartet is loud, bluesy, southern-fried, and heavy. It's led by Gregg Todt (of the similar Federation of Horsepower) and bolstered by musicians familiar to anyone as old as Slim. But where Federation leaned into Molly Hatchet boogie, TATB dove deeper into the blues – especially during a trio of songs in the middle of the set that began with a cover of Blind Willie Johnson's "Jesus Make Up My Dying Bed." Afterward the group veered into hard rock territory, with lead guitarist Auggie Wolber adding some flashy '80s leads and solos. But there's no hair metal in the growled vocals of Todt – they come from somewhere deep and earned. At 8:15 the sound engineer said the band's time was up. Todt replied, "We're still gonna play one more; I don’t care," and then he did. There is no stopping The Almighty Trouble Brothers.

While the opener was an obvious favorite of Slim's, the next act surely ended up on the bill through happy coincidence. The trio of TsuShiMaMiRe hail from Tokyo. They've been around for twenty-five years, offering punk infused with J-Pop charm, funk basslines, disco drumming, and indie rock verve. Guitarist Mari Kono fronts the band. Her guitar was a delightful wild card, delivering everything from by-the-book pop-punk barre chords to intriguingly smart and noisy art punk. Simple melodic solos punctuated the set. Her vocal delivery was similarly unpredictable, employing cloying coos, tightly cadenced rap, and the sweetest screams you've ever heard. Every song was bolstered by harmonies from her sonic cohorts. Yayoi Tsushima was just as mesmerizing. Her long fingers pulled and slapped her bass into shape as she danced about the stage. The hour-long set included an encore – not something you typically see for the middle act on a three-band bill. It seems TsuShiMaMiRe can't be stopped either.

Between performances a cake appeared, and Slim blew out the candles. Then he got his present.

Men of Men is an all-star local cover project known for celebrating the off-kilter punk, no wave, and post-punk of the late '70s and early '80s. Their usual set plays tribute to so many of the bands that first came to me on a mind-blowing mix tape I received in 1987 from a girl much, much cooler than me. So hearing the act recreate The Stranglers, Flipper, Fear, and Saccharine Trust always brings me back to that time. But Slim was the birthday boy, and for his present he asked the musicians to play some of his favorite and formative songs instead. The sextet obliged. The results were charming even when they were a mess.

The band started with Sleep's "Dopesmoker." While the act trudged through the fuzzed-out stoner anthem, vocalist Steve Tulipana sang "Happy Birthday." A sign of things to come. A cover of Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" continued the doom. Tulipana was asked to channel Ozzy three more times before the night was over. Groove metal-adjacent tracks from Helmet, Prong, and Clutch soon appeared in the sixteen-song set. They kept bassist Jeff Harshbarger and fill-in drummer Nathan Kilen busy. The group got weird for takes from Shocking Blue, John Maus, and Butthole Surfers. There, the sax of Rich Wheeler and keys of Kyle Dahlquist were allowed to shine. A cover of "She's Got the Drugs" by locals Cretin66 had Slim and his friends singing along, arm-in-arm. One by locals The Big Iron fared nearly as well. But then the act shot for the moon with Rainbow's "Man on the Silver Mountain." Tulipana is a versatile singer, but Dio is singular. A safe version of Pink Floyd's "Us and Them" cleansed the palate. However, by the end of the ninety-minute set, the project was ready to swing for the fences again. Guitarist Alex Alexander swapped guitars, stretched his fingers, and began Randy Rhoads' famous intro in "Crazy Train." The result was dynamite. Soon, musician-about-town Bill Guilfoyle leapt from the audience to add vocals. Then it got sillier. After Alexander's perfect finger taps, the song collapsed into a lounge version that had everyone smiling and shaking their heads in disbelief. No one would dare stop Men of Men.

The night ended with well-wishers, shots, and one Japanese band bemused by the party it had somehow joined.