"Got the time tick, tick, ticking in my head." Four bands played for a total of 90 minutes. It'd be wrong for me to write a book about such a short show, so let's be quick.

Can you call Honey a supergroup? I can. It lines up as Jordan Kane (vocals), Miguel Angel Carbajal and Dodi Wiemuth (guitars), Jamie Woodard (bass), and Drew Ballard (drums). You know those guys from Doldrums (x2), Limb Dealer, Perfume USA, and Aprilmist. Now they make hardcore as Honey. I've read Kane say that the group draws influence from New York hardcore of the '90s and '00s. Okay, but I hear a lot from the '80s crossover acts. There's more Crumbsuckers power than H2O melodicism in the project. At 7:30 guitar feedback sent Kane pacing the audience, growling his gruff vocals into his raised microphones. Anthrax-style riffs from Wiemuth created the foundation for the band's songs. Carbajal either added leads or crunched in unison. Woodard added vocals – not gang choruses but offset vocals that created intriguing chaos. Behind them Ballard unleashed some incredibly tight snare fills between blast beats. A few audience members threw down in the pit – windmills and two-steps mostly – but those dancers never collided. The audience made space just in case. It wasn't the level of engagement Kane was after when he shouted, "Move your feet!" but opening acts always get tentative crowds that are still studying the vibe of the show. Similarly, I was still trying to unlock the group's musical secrets when its twenty-minute set ended. I'll try again soon, but until I complete that work, you'll find two of the new band's songs on Spotify if you'd like to do your own research.

Pact of Violence (often abbreviated as POV on flyers) was next. Patrick Ard fronts the band. In keeping with classic hardcore naming rules, maybe you know him as "Pat of Violence." If you don't know his name, you've seen him in the pit. He's big and those kicking legs are hard to miss. Literally. Guitarists CJ Brelsford and Jack Pressler, bassist Ben Henley, and drummer Iestyn Hurtig complete the group. I understand there have been a few false starts, but this line-up seems to have found its rhythm. The act is hardcore – chugging, tough guy, beatdown hardcore – with all the expected shifts to create the slow breakdowns and the required double time mosh parts. For fun, the quintet sometimes dialed the tempo all the way down to a seething sludge. Henley stood center stage, kicking off several songs with bass intros. Ard, however, never appeared on the stage; instead, he paced and patrolled the pit – especially during the instrumental passages. When called on, he both growled and shouted his vocals. Between songs, Ard's banter was shockingly civilized and friendly. I expected all hate from a band called Pact of Violence, but I was wrong. Pressler, however, shouted at the audience to move. "I know you didn't pay $5 to sit on your asses!" Some did. Some didn't. Those who did watched from the wings. Those who didn't two-stepped from side-to-side and got in stomping donkey kicks. POV also has a two-song demo online if you want to practice dancing in your apartment.

Blip has continued to settle into his role as a venue. There's more art (mostly motorcycle photography) in the room and stage lights now illuminate the performers. The same worn couches continue to provide reprieve for those with tired ears or tired feet. I often have both.

Ricky Reyes introduced Still Ill as the night's "lounge act." It's true that the project isn't the straightforward hardcore of the earlier two bands, but good luck to the lounge that books Still Ill. Reyes sings – or more often than not, rasps – while playing guitar. Jen Kean plays guitar lines that sparkle through chiming arpeggios, as well as carrying lead vocals from time to time. Dom Zappia plays melodic bass lines while Kyle Herrenkohl bashes a drum kit. If pressed for an answer, I'd say the act was post-hardcore, but during the band's half-hour set it also danced with shoegaze, kissed slowcore, and climaxed into massive post-rock. I loved Reyes croak in "Pain In Things" and how it juxtaposed a jangly guitar line not far from The Cure's "In Between Days." Kean's vocals in "Dollhouse" shifted from coy to venomous in an instant, matching the composition that lurched and drifted like a boat caught in the waves. Her scream was blood-curdling, easily outdoing the one on the foursome's excellent new album. Reyes' fifteen-year-old son Ian Reyes took the drum throne for "Heart SF," and nailed it. No one called for the audience to move; instead Reyes dropped his guitar midway through closer "My War Isn't Over Yet" and hit the floor himself. With both hands gripping the microphone, Reyes delivered a cathartic, roaring, and kinetic performance. Good luck to whoever follows that.

Headlining the night and looking for luck was Ten Times Fast. The four-piece consists of vocalist/guitarist Tyler Snowden, guitarist (and fellow Perfume USA member) Anthony Keagan, bassist Angela Perschau, & drummer Iestyn Hurtig (back for his second shift of the night). Together they blend post-hardcore, grunge, and shoegaze to create music that is poppy yet thick. And also very loud. The on-stage amplifiers easily bested Blip's PA, sacrificing Snowden's vocals to instead wrap the audience in the band's impressive aural blanket. Throughout the short twenty-minute set Snowden's thrumming guitar work remained out front where it was often doubled by Keagan to create imposing depth. Keagan occasionally cut through for solos, but the set contained few subtleties, tempo shifts, or loud/soft dynamics to crack the quartet's sonic cocoon. Maybe that's why the audience stood frozen, but those on stage didn't move much more. Snowden rocked back and forth comfortably, but Perschau remained focused on her fingers, unrecognizable as the joyful dancer she is in the pit. If you missed the gig, you can hear the act (vocals and all) on its new four-song debut cassette, Off White. Oh, did I mention that this was the release show for that EP? No? Well, it was. I knew I'd forget something if I tried to hurry.