This one was guaranteed to be a ripper. Initially booked as two shows at two venues, the level heads at Sk8bar and RecordBar joined forces to unite the five acts onto one enormous bill sure to bring out all the old heads and real ones. Well, at least those that go out on Wednesday nights.

Opener The Uncouth had a logistical challenge ahead of it – doors at 7:00, on at 7:15, off at 7:35. That's a timeline that no band ever wants to face, but the local quartet took it all in stride. After making a quick introduction, the group tore through a short set of fierce oi. Anthems like "Know Your Roots" hit especially hard. The harmonies in pro-union song "Company Town Blues" were solid. Most of the singalongs were skipped – those are best saved for small rooms, late into the night, with a crowd of familiars – making room for punchier tracks like "Adam's Got a Boxcutter." Sadly, the sound was muddy. Was it the room? The shared equipment? Either way, the lead guitar of CJ Wilson never sliced through like it should have, and the rhythm guitar of Cody Blanchard and the bass of Steve Gardels dueled for space in the mix. Sound issues continued when drummer Todd Rainey fought with a cymbal stand, eventually arriving at an uneasy draw. Thankfully the room filled during the short set. When Gardels said the next song was about America's favorite pastime, one audience member interrupted shouting out "Baseball!" "No," corrected Gardels, "punching Nazis." And that led to the aggro "Got Me Wrong" with its blunt chorus of: "When I see you on the street / you'll be picking up your teeth / I don't know who the f*ck you think you are." Tough as nails start to the night.

The Bad Ideas followed quickly with a twenty-minute set of its own. Don Dawn paced the stage – bouncing, dancing, and screaming into her handheld microphone. She has been battling voice issues, but those screams sounded awfully good. As did bassist Matt Roberts' backing vocals. The mix, however, was still muddy. This worked fine for the churning guitar bits played by Mike Alexander, but not for the tighter moments where he joined Roberts and drummer Jay Willis for some surprisingly complex rhythmic passages. For a punk band that generally sounds like Dead Kennedys, there were sure some "YYZ"-styled passages. Roberts introduced a few numbers with rants about healthcare and societal expectations, Dawn called out stalkers and tossed in a "f*ck capitalism" for good measure. This recently reformed band didn't introduce any new material during its ten-song set, but its signature cover of Blatz's "Fuk Shit Up" got the audience shouting along and punching the air.

And then came the parade of legends and lifers. Each of the touring acts formed in the '80s and are still playing clubs, making music, and causing trouble. I don't think any of them have any idea what else to do. It's all they've done for their whole lives. The story wasn't much different for most of the audience. There were plenty of lifers in the crowd who wouldn’t know what to do if the music stopped. I suspect a few wouldn’t even be alive if they hadn’t found this scene.

First up was Total Chaos. The act formed in California in the late '80s using the UK82 blueprint carved out by The Exploited and GBH. The adherents were fast, political, often violent, and had no interest in lip-syncing on Top of the Pops. While some groups were pro-working-class, all railed against the ruling one. Before Total Chaos took the stage, the sound of marching troops played over the PA. Once that enemy was in place, the band was ready to take up the fight. Rob Chaos has fronted the project through its entire run. Tall, thin, mohawked, bedazzled with studs and a bondage belt, and equipped with a devastating sneer. The man oozed punk. He barked his vocals and released shredded screams. Guitarist Shawn Smash's guitar was bright and urgent. His solos were metal AF with plenty of hammers and shred. Bassist Chema Zurita played to the crowd – running around the stage, playing his instrument over the audience, and firing it from his shoulder like a rifle. Drummer Miguel Conflict just played fast and made good use of his double bass pedal. He usually provides backing vocals too, but on this night, he never got a mic – much to Chaos's disappointment. Luckily Smash and Zurita were prepared. The band's thirty-five-minute set covered much of its varied career, ranging from hardcore intensity to catchy street punk riffs and anthems. The audience bounced off each other and then chased one another around in a circle just like the old days.

At 9:30 the punk of Total Chaos gave way to the hardcore of tourmates Murphy's Law. Jimmy Drescher started the band in 1982 and has recruited every musician in NYC into this army at one point or another. This tour featured Phil Caivano (lead guitar), AJ Novello (rhythm guitar), Brendan Porray (bass), and Walter Ryan (drums). Depending on how deep you dig into NYHC, all those names may be familiar. Caivano (known primarily as a member of Monster Magnet) was a curious addition as he added solos that were decidedly more rock & roll than hardcore. That's an upgrade in my book, but, of course, the act's sound has always been open to influence. This incarnation doesn't favor the ska and reggae that the group once obsessed over, but instead it leaned into punk and doubled down on the frivolity. Is every song about weed, beer, or girls? Probably not. I mean, there's got to be one about the scene or working-class pride in there somewhere, right? Right? For forty minutes the band hosted a party led by the positively jolly Drescher. He handed out beers to the crowd, carried a kid onto stage to sing "Cavity Creeps," and riled the crowd by questioning the city's BBQ. When not defending the honor of tomato-based sauces, the room danced maniacally and sang loudly to never-quite hits like "Panty Raid" and set highlight "Woke Up Tied Up." Just when I realized what an unexpectedly good time I was having, the quartet closed with a cover of "Someone's Gonna Get Their Head Kicked in Tonight." I don't know if anyone got their head kicked in, but there was a gal in heels and a cocktail dress dropping it right in the middle of the pit. Murphy's Law was a party.

And then we come to the finale. Tell me if this sounds familiar. Vocalist Paul Bearer started Sheer Terror in 1984, and in the forty years that have followed he's teamed up with a host of players. It was Johnny Eggz (guitars), Henry "Hank Hell" Belfor (bass), and John Besser (drums) that completed the current incarnation. As always, Sheer Terror a NYHC act. And on this night, it was a very loud NYHC act that was shockingly tight. The sound issues present in earlier sets were cleaned up (or did they all result from having levels set for the headliner) and the foursome sounded amazing. Bearer was his trademark self – funny, self-depreciating, and uninterested in your opinion. In-between the gruff vocals that he shouted over punishing metallic guitar lines, he told long, rambling, and endearing stories. Many of them were about Kansas City, a place he inexplicably called home for a few years in the '90s. He reminisced about his time as a bouncer (but not his time at the malt shop where he berated my friend for "dancing in the establishment") and about buying cocaine from "the gays." He's known for eschewing political correctness, but his diatribe telling everyone to mind their own business and live their own lives was practically progressive for this bulldog in human form. The crowd moved for the foursome. There were no spin kicks, but arms swung and a few fans pressed against the stage took offense at being "blindsided." Ridiculous, but it wouldn’t be a hardcore show unless there was some petty drama.

The band's fifty-five-minute set moved by quickly, covering fifteen songs from its early career all the way up to one planned for an upcoming album due in October. The end of the set was stacked. "Halt" and "Cup O' Joe" had everyone jumping, and when "Just Can't Hate Enough" started, I tossed my camera aside and scaled the sweaty backs of my compatriots to shout the misanthropic chorus of "I can't stand living / I can't stand you / and I just can't hate enough" into Bearer's outstretched microphone. Maybe that's not what normal middle-aged guys do with their Wednesday nights, but like I said, some of us just don't know anything else.