Enter. Extend arms. Black Xs (you underage fool). Bar stool. Sit. Sigh. Stare at others. And act cool, like you “know your taverns.” It’s always been my arrival routine at Great Scott and an infallible one regardless of how hollow the venue might be.

Sitting down by the prickly end of a Christmas garland, I occupied four barstools instead of the typical “kid, you can stand” void. The room provided the perfect number for people-watching: large enough not to get caught staring but small enough to memorize the cast: two baldies, three half-baldies, one maybe-baldie (wearing a hat), one spritely fellow in full biking gear, two best friends sipping lagers, one urban flowerchild lady, one flannelled man with really untrustworthy eyebrows, three dudes wearing synonymous pairs of glasses, one adorable old man who looked fresh out of a bildungsroman’s final pages, and, OF COURSE, the camel couple. A couple that sports entirely camel pant suits together, sticks together…damnit.

I know. It’s a chunky stew of characters, but the way they intertwined over the course of the evening was surprising to say the least.

Act I: Andrew Sadoway

As meek as humanly possible, Andy (Sir untrustworthy eyebrows but more formally known as half of Bent Shapes) took the stage with his four bandmates behind, three of which comprised the matching glasses trio previously listed. I’d make a blind mice reference, but, given my lacking writer’s credibility, there’s no way I could foresee not sounding like a complete asshole.

And quite frankly, I’d hate to be that in light of this crew. Andy’s music hit me straight in the beach-inspired soft spot located somewhere between my heart and its Atlantic coastal origin. Sunny-bright guitar lines, underlying keyboard and full usage of off-beats and up-strums filled the set with so much of my own taste it almost seemed like selfish listening. The baldies (and their fractioned peers) may not have “felt it,” but I did…and I’m the one dictating this Word document. And I’ll be the one copying and pasting it later.

The guitars were audibly clean with not one chord passing into garage-rock muck. I didn’t pinpoint the exact source of beachy magic until I looked over at the scene’s literary old man who was nodding his head to the beat of agreement. It was in the songwriting, intricate and relatable. Both qualities were coupled best with the most memorable dialogue of the night:”Does anyone serve as tech support for their family? This song’s for you.”

Then Andy pointed to the ambiguously bald hat-wearer. His name was Josh, and assumingly, he knows his was around a computer.

 Act II: Thalia Zedek Band

The shameful fact that I had never heard nor seen Thalia Zedek and her emotional rock band led me to naively watch the seasoned songwriter take her stage under the role of beer-sipper #1. Led by urban flowerchild lady, the rest of the cast nuzzled closer to the stage too. Of the three acts, Zedek definitely drew the largest crowd/group number of the night. This made sense. Emotion drives plot development, and nothing screams that more than a string-heavy five-piece rid of shallow motives.

Performance-wise, Zedek was a marvel because of her indifference to display herself in the traditional sense. She didn’t speak to the crowd much nor did she feel inclined to stir interest through her own movement. Through a set of masterfully layered tracks, most of which were off the group’s most recent EP SIX, Zedek’s downcast eyes and weathered voice said it all: the feeling within her didn’t need to go anywhere else.

The jury of baldies (…and their fractioned peers) nodded in approval to Zedek as the urban flowerchild lady clutched her beer, mouth hanging open in awe. These were real fans of real music, and, as each song flowed in and out, I began to assimilate too.

I especially appreciated the seamless incorporation of fiddle into harsher parts of the set. It was refreshing hearing the instrument melt into the rock genre rather than diminish its power into artisanal marmalade. The strings were appropriate, as were mine and urban flowerchild’s tears during “Julie Said,” a ballad about something important (probably). Although that day’s news of my hard drive erasing itself may have predisposed me to tenderness, I’d like to thank Zedek’s simplistic songwriting and pure voice for sending me over an emotional cliff. The song’s quarter-beat build gave the impression of endless rising, putting me in a state conducive to Zedek’s final annotation: “This song’s about a really bad flood.”

That was convenient…my role was real.

 Act III: Exit Verse

In a “callback” to the night’s opening scene, the camel couple stepped forward as Exit Verse, the current project of Karate’s Geoff Farina, started playing. However, in an almost conducted stage direction, most of the crowd headed for the door, leaving Sadoway’s band, Zedek’s band, two baldies, the storybook old-timer and myself to finish it all off.

Cutting to the chase, I’ll admit it. “Feeling it” wasn’t exactly an option for me, but I knew it would be for someone else, someone who barbecues a lot and owns a tire swing, someone like…. My Uncle Todd! That’s what this talented three-piece was giving me: “Todd-rock.” And this fun-loving genre is nothing to patronize since my Uncle Todd built his own cabin in the woods and now owns a toy store worthy of Buzzfeed listing. That’s reputable taste right there, it’s just not mine. The vocal melodies and base progression never really broke my interest for perhaps a number of completely subjective songwriting reasons.

But, uncle or not, there was no denying the guitar abilities of front man Farina. Every song was played with obvious accuracy complete with tricky picking that was on-tempo with the older hearts in the room. Also, apart from my opinion, the remaining crowd seemed perfectly thrilled with the set. The camel couple bopped around in tan appreciation, the baldies followed suit and the previously mentioned young man in bike gear had his thumbs up the whole time.

He had produced the group’s recent, self-titled album according to one of Farina’s mid-set shoutouts. So, although Exit Verse’s set wasn’t a success for my ears, altruism is still a beautiful thing. The dwindling room was definitely won over.

I couldn’t help but smirk at the night’s jigsaw group of remaining attendees as I headed toward the doors. The tunes were good, the people-watching: better. I stared as the literary old man stayed put, alone and in front of the now empty stage. I won’t even pretend to understand his motive…but I’ll assume it was noteworthy.

The end.