Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!

Drifter started at 7:30. An early bird crowd stood up front. The doomy post-rock trio has fans. I'm one of them. The musicians seemed anxious or maybe just annoyed before walking on stage. There was some sort of parking kerfuffle. Early feedback didn't help ease tensions, but once the engineer found the right sonic profile, Drifter's presence filled the room – as huge and powerful as it ever has been. That's important, as the threesome must be felt not merely heard. Dean's deep voice and bass must shake a room in tandem. Brodie's sculpted guitar tones must surround you. Everyone should feel the punch of Joel's drums. And they did. Long songs, big crescendos, auxiliary percussion, roared vocals, and composed interstitials were all present in the group's four or five numbers. A half-hour outing done well. A few weeks ago, Dean told me he had some new toys. That he was going to be able to play keyboards while also playing bass. Or maybe it was going to be used while he shaped noise on his "junk rig" of MIDI controllers, effects, and percussion pads. Nothing new this time, but now you have the same early warning that I've had. Dean gave another scoop directly to the audience: there's a new album on the way. Now we're all on even footing.

Season to Risk took the stage at 8:30. A few lineup shifts. That happens when bands have been around over twenty-five years. The quintet was as urgent and tight as ever, and the resulting noise rock was both chaotic and transcendent. Guitars were jagged and dangerous. Rusty bone saws both. Keyboards came from everywhere, filling in gaps and pushing conflicting agendas. Two microphones delivered Steve's electronically altered vocals in distinct flavors: distorted and more distorted. His vocals were sinister yet alluring. He's a carnival barker coming from your soul and you can't help but follow him into the tent. He kicked. He whipped his grey hair around. He clapped. The latter made me chuckle. With the polyphonic din coming from his cohorts, how did he decide which instrument to mimic? The nine-song set spanned the act's career. One fan pumped his fist to every one of them.

Headliners Unsane have been around even longer. After nearly forty years, they've covered half a dozen styles and burned through just as many foundational record labels. This version of the band is a tight and efficient power trio, stripped to the essentials. Unsane is the paleo diet of noise rock. A few genres were represented: hardcore punk, mathy noise rock, and at least one diversion into metallic stoner rock. All were my favorite. Chris's shouted vocals scolded the crowd. He pummeled us with his guitar, and then he turned his abuse toward his guitar, producing striking bends. Bass and drums both provided propulsive percussion. With the former also delivering vital backing vocals. He had the biggest mouth that I've ever seen. Looking away, I was immediately mesmerized by the touring sound man. He loves this band more than anyone has ever loved a band. I watched as he sang every word and punched the air at every change. His slider ensured the echo on the vocals was applied at just the right moments. Portions of the small audience tried to replicate his passion, jumping throughout the hour-long set. My exertion was considerably less aerobic, but the midweek show still left me battered and exhausted. I think they did that on purpose.