I’d say the only constant of the night was my exceptionally high body temperature, but that would mean neglecting the rest of Great Scott’s lovable inevitabilities: dark lighting, lean-able pole on stage right and that other front-most corner, consistently serving as haven for pheramone-drunk couples and flailing superfans who can’t decide what to do with their hands.

And I guess that idea of knowing what you’re getting into carried beyond the venue toward what filled it Sunday night. Although Craft Spells, Bilinda Butchers and Funeral Advantage drew three distinct opinions from me, each set fit into a mold familiar to my show-slouched back.

Like the piecewise craft of each band, the whole night provided a sampler of common show varieties: a hit, a miss, and a half-baked disappointment. In. That. Order.

Lo-fi locals Funeral Advantage were the “hit.” Their combination of starting a comfy ten minutes after I reached the venue and stating their origin as “just across the street” got things off on a serendipitous foot. I thank them for the excuse to type that impressive word. Who’s underage now? Still me.

I stick by my first scrawled note as my most efficient one: “This opening sounds like ending credits.” A close second goes to “a buncha lankies,” which I wrote directly below, knowing that I would come off as the property-owning, skinny-tall-boy-hating old man that I definitely am. Don’t step on my wife’s tulips. They’re SACRED.

Soft or loud, building or diminishing, everything sounded full. The five-piece nature of the group helped, but the chordal artistry between each and every string was what really filled the room. Funeral Advantage’s set was a 20-minute translation of literal “shoegaze” as they plucked away, heads down, letting guitars suspend as they do. Theirs was a sound for staring off into space and smirking at hypotheticals. I was blown away by how easy it was to unfocus my eyes and just enjoy time…and space…and antimatter…and my own mortality…and OKAY. I’M DONE.

But a change of tempo and opinion came soon after the locals left the stage. Please don’t get me wrong or take me too seriously. The Bilinda Butchers of San Fran are a great band. Otherwise they wouldn’t be currently touring with much-loved Craft Spells. They also drew a semi-rowdy crowd and opened with wind chimes samples. I LOVE a good wind chime sample. I really (really) do.

However, something just wasn’t there for me during the set. Essentially chill songs morphed from a style similar to Pure X into a harder, more garage-y sound, which should have made for a satisfying listen, but somehow my body sensed louder as sleepier. There seemed to be a heavy reliance on ear-pleasing guitar intervals, making tracks seem dragged out. Then again, this is coming from a person who listens to the entirety of Real Estate’s self-titled album daily. I blame my disinterest on the abstract of music and not The Bilinda Butchers’ approach to it.

This set was a “miss” but one with no hard feelings behind it. I just sort of drifted off to some place far away from the rest of the crowd. They loved it, thrashed about, gave some shouts and comprised the majority opinion. Trust me. I was the “odd corduroy shirt out.” This band pleased the people, and that’s what really matters.

Lastly came the in-between. The middle ground. The phenomenon of seeing a band you know & love and walking away with a preference for their stuff via headphones.

I give loads of credit to some of Seattle’s best. Craft Spells and all of their keyboard-y glory got me through a boring summer of retail jobs that left me with little more than a party conversation’s worth of jean facts and no sunburn…just a slight tan from the LED shine of GAP Incorporated.

Craft Spells is a go-to for me and has been since my delayed discovery of their emotionally catch-all sound. With that said, Sunday night made me love the group no less and no more. From my limited show-going experience, I’ve found that a hard-to-define genre makes for a hard-to-convey set. No matter how much I wanted frontman Justin Paul (and our matching shoes) to prove me wrong, my view remained still. Nothing will ever compare to how remarkably awed I feel listening to “Komorebi” while in MBTA transit. Not even a live rendition.

This concept carried over with the rest of the set displaying their 2014 album Nausea. It’s still up there as one of my favorite albums from last year, but having its slower vibes played before me only heightened my awareness to the perfection of Craft Spells’ recording quality. Methinks what I’m trying to say is this: There’s nothing wrong when they play. There’s just everything right when I click “play.”

But apart from this weird but familiar experience, the synthy outfit by no means disappointed the crowd. This set brought into view the most hilarious concert dancing I’ve seen to date, courtesy of the token heckler next to me who moved like a grandma trying to relate. All patron attempts to pole dance were blocked by the pole-leaning of yours truly. I like to think I’m at my most productive on Sunday nights. *hands over construction paper business card*

Overall, I see my full swing of opinions as a sign of the night’s success. Covering the bases of approval, disapproval and arm-crossed “Well, I love you anyway dear,” really was fun. Good, clean, slightly isolating fun. Even at the peaks of my confusion, going against the crowd was made easy by keeping in mind my favorite lyrical advice from my favorite Seattle band:

“Take the time to know how alone you are in this world.”