The short write-ups will continue until morale improves.

Recent Kansas City arrival Tane Graves kicked off the night somewhere shy of 8:00. The lights shone bright on the lone punk rocker delivering snotty vocals and quickly strumming cowboy chords on an acoustic guitar covered in stickers. His lyrics tilted toward the lovelorn, but that's punk rock boys for ya. Three songs in, Graves honored a request, warning the crowd it would "sound like all the other ones." He wasn't wrong. But it's a great sound that balances the tender and the fierce. I mean, Frank Turner has made a career out of doing little else. Some tunes in the short fifteen-minute set were new, while others were pared down versions repurposed from his Minneapolis band Tightwire. This story of the transplant is clearly not finished.

We all sat around with our thumbs up our asses until Rodeo Boys came out at exactly 8:30. Strike 1. Then the frontperson dropped a whole lot of "Alright Kansas City!"-type banter for Strike 2. They were already on thin ice and the thirty-minute set hadn't even started. The Michigan quartet played tunes that were as much alt rock as pop punk. There was plenty of straight-ahead bashing, some moments of staccato precision, and the band was never afraid to overplay. The vocals were hoarse, and when pushed to their breaking point, very nice. Less so when they were croaked. There's a sweet spot. The lead guitarist provided most of the intrigue. His leads were interesting and his solos littered with hair metal squeal that worked for me. But then the singer said that this was the best stop of the tour and that was Strike 3.

At 9:15 it was Fea's turn. The San Antonio foursome did everything right. High-energy punk rock, hooks galore, and not one bit of pandering banter. Whether vocals were in English or Spanish they were always shouted with a Kathleen Hanna-like emphaticism. Both the bassist and the guitarist offered backing vocals while the drummer was just a furious blur of hair. The guitarist pogoed non-stop and still managed impressive rock 'n' roll solos. You know what was good about this set? Everything. Absolutely everything.

The night ended with Teenage Bottlerocket. There isn't a better pop-punk band out there, and they've been doing it for twenty-five years. The generous twenty-six song set started with eight numbers played back-to-back. The quartet didn't even pause for a breath, much less banter. The two guitarists swapped songs, each nailing harmonies when not singing lead. The drummer was an animal – so fast, so tight, so intense. When the old guys needed a break, they spoke to the audience directly and without pretense. Personalities shone through. Teens with Xs on their hands danced a merry mosh pit, children sat on their fathers' shoulders, and us grey beards hugged the walls. Everyone came out. More should be said, but that's all the time we have.