“It’s kind of like driving a couch,” she says behind the wheel of what once was her grandma’s créme ‘98 Cadillac Deville. Now it’s a “caddie,” and I’m in the passenger seat getting the Newburyport tour from a seasoned local, who’s knocking back shadies on an overcast Wednesday. The tape deck is broken.

As she distinguishes notable burger joints from mediocre ones, I’d like to say Amelia Gormley is a different person from her onstage self. That when shredding bass in two different bands, she takes new shape in each. But then I’d be lying, “journalism” would go out the window, and this piece wouldn’t be about her. A dual personality makes for an interesting story, but a whole person speaks a better one, given time, attention, and a few train tickets.

But riding in her car is where I ended things. The start, goes something like this.

The New Highway Hymnal is a psychedelic rock band that started in 2009 by friends who, as put by singer/guitarist Hadden Stemp, “wanted something new.” They’re a composite with a history of lineup changes, but Amelia has been on bass since beat one. She and Stemp met in the awkward days of high school on Boston’s north shore. He pegged Amelia as shy back in those days, and, quite frankly, I forgot to return the question her way. It was a situation of friends in bands among other friends’ bands, the sort of “I know that you know that you’ve got some semblance of rhythm” that paves way for afterschool jamming and recreational pot smoking. Now, they’re a three piece with a discography and a local presence to match.

Back in April, hours before Hymnal’s record release show for their sophomore LP Reverb Room, a short, uncomfortable phone call tells me this much: Amelia’s excited. She’s wearing socks. Her car is almost packed for the commute into Cambridge, and her general feelings go as follows:

“It’s probably going to be one of our last shows for a while,” she says over speakerphone. “It’s definitely bittersweet going into it.”

Going into it, the sold-out Middle East is as crowded as this sentence is redundant. I pick a wall to avoid the flow of shifters and half-drunks while watching the one present grey-haired man perform iPhone photography through most of the three openers: Andy California, The Televibes, and Vundabar. Aside from a mid-bill McDonald’s break, I patiently wait to hear Hymnal for my first time. When they step onstage, I lean against a projector topped with purple dye and a transparent plate only to be shooed away once the reverb kicks in. A sweaty, bearded expert takes the post. Gladly, I back away as he maneuvers the dish spastically to create a microscope-inspired light show over the bassist. It looks great even with her back turned.

“Ask and ye shall receive,” says Amelia. After half a set’s worth of groove, she approaches a fan-provided pile of PBR cans placed conveniently next to her mic. One sip, and it’s back to work. She’s already laying down another bass line.

The set feels seamless. There’s expected fuzz and echoes, but with the three stationary band members spreading sound through the seemingly packed Middle East Up, I pick up on their secret. Hymnal excels in this genre. They do it right, especially in the live setting, because there’s just enough discipline to cut through the noise. The bass is to blame for this, regimented and badass, played by the regimented badass herself. I label her this way, as her fingers pull the psychedelia in range where my ears can relate—while her stance and smirk remain unassuming. In a later interview, Stemp states “Without bass, it would mostly be noise,” and that its steady rhythm is key in the live setting.

If Amelia knows she’s good, perhaps she credits most of her work to the instrument itself. She steps back for the rest of the set, allowing audio to take priority over the visual. Plus, the pairing of a feather tattooed on her forearm with another tied to her bass’s neck does well to replace any stage antics.

This eventually snowballs into a throwing of instruments, select drum pieces and beer before the band goes in for a group hug at the end. I look around in the process to see how the rest of the crowd is taking to Hymnal. The final sounds are chaotic, like the band is dumping every piece of itself onstage for the time being, and yet I know there’s even more to them, more to Amelia too.

Thrashing fans outnumber us wide-eyed wall-leaners, but not by much. The situation calls for anchoring myself to something, and, as a person who consistently remains grounded at shows, I feel shaken as my feet lift.

In a later interview, Amelia tells me that hearing The Beatles’ “Tomorrow Never Knows,” was her first experience with psychedelic rock. I’ve since come to think that this show was mine.