The bartender hands me a Heineken, try and I retreat to the side of the stage. The space is vast, pill and a LT Live sign reflects on the stage, as the photographer circles in while Strange Changes sets up.

Strange Changes, the nine-headed musical freak of Allston, is pure, unadulterated, evil genius. So many musical parts, and so many technical angles that it is impossible to fathom, until the music shoots to the back of your head and comes out again.

Dressed in a dapper suit, the lead singer goes into “Oh, oh Lord,” and the crowd bobs their heads. The horn section swings back and forth, brass glistening in the red and green light.

The drummer pulses in a steady rhythm, his face drawn and intense. The music is stylized, but the band can perform any style. Strange Changes has knowledge of the tradition, yet tailors tradition to the audience. Ready to croon or caterwaul, whichever the music calls for, Strange Changes is prepared.

“I ain’t got much time left,” he sings at the end of the set.

A quote from Charles Mingus comes to mind, “Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creative.”

“Y’all down with some beat-boxing?” the announcer says, and steps up to the stage. He beat-boxes and then goes into a solo as the next band sets up.

The Berklee band Bear Language is fresh from SXSW, a three-piece indie alternative rock band and the perfect South By fodder. The bassist and the guitarist swing back and forth, and nod their heads up and down, strumming and pulsing.

“Come down,” the guitarist, sings into the microphone, and it echoes throughout the room. The band is bathed in blue-green light as the crowd begins to pump up.

“But the rest of me still wants you,” he sings, and the music continues to pick up, the LT live logo still reflecting in the background.

The love song hits my ears, and I am slightly buzzed by now and loving it. Then the music explodes, and the floor begins to vibrate, and as the riff cuts off my head spins.

“We got Berklee in the house tonight,” the announcer says, stepping up again. He jams his way through intermission, wails and whines to the beginning of the Juice’s set.

“Check, check,” the lead vocalist says, and grips the microphone.

The grinding, raw pulse begins, and he begins to rap, reminiscent of Zack de la Rocha. He spits political implications in a bulletproof vest, and then strips his shirt off for a Doors cover. He can sing as well as spit.

“She get’s high,” he croons in earnest, and the girls in the front dance.

The band moves, but not too much, because they look cool and are having fun with the long, drawn out rock wails. I begin to dance, clutching the empty Heineken can. I walk up to the bar for another, as the lead singer finishes the set, and winks at the crowd of girls with a, “I’ll see you in the shower later.”

The announcer steps back up, and spits a Beatles line, “Come together right now,” for the final bands of the night.

Moniker is up, dressed all in black, the stage is dark and the crowd is ready. The band has recently returned from a California tour, where they performed at the notorious Whiskey A Go Go.

“Test, test, test, test, test,” the lead singer says, and it echoes.

The drum roll begins, and the song transitions into a rock symphony that sends chills down my spine. The lead singer closes his eyes, croons, and the bass vibrates the floor. The band is bathed in green light, and the LT Live logo continues to illuminate the background.

The bass and guitar riffs resonate, and the lyrics echo through the room. The words do not have to be understood. The vocals rise, fall and even out. A slight hush and a whisper sound, but there is force behind it. The song rounds out gently.

I finish my second Heineken, and the Middle East has filled up now as the headliners take the stage. The band that the late Boston Phoenix said “changed to stay the same.” The Shills are a Boston staple eight years running, and a well deserved headliner at the show tonight.

The band is bathed in blue-green light, with a tinge of pink. The guitar riffs are melodic and the band is straight progressive indie rock. The LT Live logo flashes across the stage again as the lead singer grips the microphone. He is captivating.

I remember the lead singer’s quote in the Phoenix, “I’ve always thought of the Shills as a band that makes complicated music with complicated structures, but it’s uncool to have complicated music.”

The music is intricate, yet decidedly simple, an excellent end to the LT Live show that combined Berklee students and Boston staple bands. That Mingus quote comes to mind again as I toss the Heineken can in the trash, and the song rounds out.