As I sat in the beer garden at Mike ’N Molly’s on a brisk Friday evening, it seemed as if the summer had come full circle. A mere four months earlier, I had ventured downtown to catch a show at this venue for the first time a few weeks after school had ended – and practically froze every bone in my body on a chilly May night.

And now here I was again, in the exact same location a few weeks after the beginning of the fall semester. A little older? Certainly. But was I any wiser? Well, at least I had brought a sweatshirt this time.

In the opening slot, Decatur’s own Soy City Stranglers tried to get the blood flowing for the spattering of people who had arrived at the announced start time. In the same vein as Snot (but with a greater emphasis on quickening the pace and dirtying the riffs), the group played short, thrashy songs which were heavily accented by lead vocalist Billy Fury snarling singing voice.

In my estimation, the group made a mistake by not starting out with its strongest songs and when a few semi-tolerable tracks finally snuck their way into the set, it was too late to make up for the bad first impression.

From its unrefined nature, I can only surmise that the group was formed one night when the members were sitting around talking about their favorite bands and decided to pick up instruments to try and be just like them (case in point was one song which was prefaced with: “This one’s about Mudvayne, my favorite band”).

All was not lost, though. I did have a good time trying to spot all the standard rock cliches. Singing with alcohol in one hand. Check. Song about tattoos. Check. Jumping off speakers. Check. (Although the stunt might have had a bigger effect if the speaker jutted up higher than only a foot or so above the stage.)

But overall, the band didn’t take themselves too seriously (at least I hope not), so I won’t either.

Wedged into the middle spot on the three-band-bill, Golden Quality possessed a lot of the, well, not-so-golden qualities attributed to those with middle-child syndrome: often overlooked and not all too special.

It’s not that the songs weren’t capable of getting feet tapping and heads nodding – they just never came across as particularly memorable. Playing bland meat-and-potatoes rock songs with the occasional tinge of punk, the group had a likeable feel that unfortunately wasn’t very long lasting.

Toward the end, a forgettable ballad seemed to be thrown in merely as an attempt to exhibit the scope of their musical abilities and wasn’t as strong as their other more upbeat offerings, including a well-executed instrumental track that succeeded in capturing my attention the longest.

One peculiarity that did stand out was the abrupt ending of many of their songs, a feature that was perhaps thrown in just to make sure people were paying attention (and for the most part, it didn’t seem as if they were judging from the lack of applause by those caught off-guard).

Maybe a less lackadaisical live show would have done wonders to boost my opinion of the band and consider them a more noteworthy unit, but on this night Golden Quality was definitely overshadowed by its older brother – which took the stage next.

Occupying the headlining slot, Roberta Sparrow unleashed the type of performance that the crowd which had quietly filed in throughout the night was anticipating.

Almost immediately, it was clear that the local hardcore punk act (which formed after the demise of Vice Dolls) was exactly what the two opening bands aspired to be: polished, well-rounded musicians.

Despite having only three members, Roberta Sparrow oozed greater stage presence than the more populated groups which had preceded them, anchored by drummer Greg Jaeger who impressively balanced his frenetic drumming with lead vocalist duties.

Aiming not to simply generate the most noise possible and couple it with mindless screaming, the trio injected a generous sampling of melody (of both the vocal and instrumental sort) into its heavy arrangements and at times nicely offset the unrelenting sonic attack with sing-along gang vocals and quieter bridges.

The group also seemed determined to maintain its tough guy image in the face of a maturing musical approach, at one point daring the crowd to mock a new song that featured a slower pace with poppier elements which made it more reminiscent of Rise Against than Bane.

After almost 45 minutes of churning out energetic anthems and nearly exhausting their catalog of songs, about the only feat the band was unable to pull off was organizing a circle pit around a metal table in front of the stage.

An act that would have added a visual element to the cyclical end of summer the night represented.

To start off with – apologies for the lack of live shots. My new digital camera didn’t arrive until the day after the show. But to prove I was actually at this concert, here’s a review.

It happens every year like clockwork: students start filing into Champaign-Urbana in August, form bands, begin to play shows and, just when the buzz starts to build and people other than close friends begin to frequent their gigs – the kids all go home in May.

Luckily, just as there a few individuals (like myself) who have decided to stick out the next three months in Chambana, there are also numerous bands and musicians who take to the towns’ stages all-year-round – not just the eight months when classes are in session.

Last Thursday, I had my first opportunity to see two such local hallmarks – The Beauty Shop and The Living Blue – perform at Mike ‘N Molly’s, along with Dark Meat and Quiet Hooves, both from Athens, GA (although I apparently showed up too late to catch the opening act).

With the weather as unpredictable as it has been lately, it was a surprise (the first of many) that the evening was nice enough to allow for the show to be held outside in the beer garden. This was my first trip to the downtown Champaign bar and I have to say that it has to be the best outside venue in at least a 50 mile radius. The antique-style street lamps. The stone bird fountain. The ivy-covered brick walls. Even the hideous portable heaters that popped up everywhere after the smoking ban went into effect were a welcome addition to help combat the cool breezes which were a constant nuisance throughout the night.

Also serving to make the chilly wind a mere afterthought were the pleasantly melancholic strains of alt-country melodies produced by the trio of local musicians who call themselves The Beauty Shop. Previous to this show, my only experiences with the band came via a friend of mine who saw them play with The Mountain Goats two years ago and got me hooked on “Rumpelstiltskin Lives” for a short time soon after as well as occasionally hearing their phenomenal cover of Depeche Mode’s “Personal Jesus” on WPGU (request it now, thank me later). But as I soon found out, the three musicians have a lot more to offer than just these two standout tracks.

Anchored by John Hoeffleur’s distinctively deep singing voice – which at times morphed into some kind of Gaelic accent – the threesome (rounded out by bassist Eric Fisher and drummer Ben Ucherek), played a fairly even mix of slower cuts (“Like I Wasn’t Even There”) and more uptempo toe-tappers (“Ambulance”). Although Hoeffleur admitted he was a little under the weather (and at one point even forgot the words to a song), I was nonetheless a little disappointed when the set came to a close (especially since it was sans “Rumpelstiltskin Lives”). If the harder-edge and faster-pace of the group’s newer cuts are any indication, The Beauty Shop’s next record might make as good of fodder for a jukebox inside Mike ‘N Molly’s as well as on its stage outside.

While the platform set up against the back wall of the beer garden was just large enough to accommodate the three members of The Beauty Shop, it was woefully inadequate to support the traveling army, err…band, that call themselves Dark Meat. Brought to Champaign by their booking agent, the Canopy Club’s own Seth Fein, the Athens, GA natives boasted an impressive fifteen member entourage of musicians (at least, that’s how many I counted before I lost track), including two violins, a trombone, trumpet and flute, two drummers, multiple guitars, and whatever else that can be used to produce music.

Decked out in war paint and an exotic assortment of costumes, the majority of the group’s members crowded onto the stage while the violinists stood in front (possibly to avoid blinding their fellow bandmates with their bows) and others walked through the crowd banging on drums and shaking tambourines. Although the set could have easily devolved into mere spectacle (on account of the lone firework set off during “One More Trip” and the contraption used to spew glitter into the air during “No One Was There”), the strength of their music was enough to keep the show grounded firmly in an appreciation for their chaotic and infinitely layered rhythms. High school band class never looked like so much fun.

Maybe it was due to the fact that the night had gotten increasingly cold, or maybe because Dark Meat had raised my expectations to an unattainable level, but for some reason The Living Blue never really succeeded in capturing my attention like I thought they would. Although, judging from the crowd (which for the first time that night filled up the beer garden), I was definitely in the minority on this opinion.

Performing for the first time in Champaign since releasing the online stream of Walk, Talk, Rhythm, Roam, its fourth full-length album, The Living Blue seemed a little too straightforward (i.e. too safe) in its approach. While a spattering of people danced in front of the stage (perhaps because they were moved by the music, or maybe just to generate some warmth), I sat almost aloof off to the side – much like the group’s guitarist did throughout Dark Meat’s set.

Ploughing their way through a set list of similar sounding songs – a scuzzed-out guitar riff here, an electronic flourish there – the quartet seemed pleased to have their new offerings receive a good reception from the hometown crowd. As I meandered my way out of the bar with chants of “One more song!” echoing in the night, I finally heard the band strike up one last chord as I crossed University. Wow, an actual unplanned encore – what more could a band ask for?