It’s a Thursday night on Capitol Hill, and it’s a bustling crowd. An average night — street dwellers busk on the sidewalk, playing music for a busy-minded audience. Rarely do people stop and listen before two a.m., at their peak drunk.

I stop at Rancho Bravo Tacos and get a breakfast burrito. It’s 7:30, and, if I’m going to drink the night away, I’ll need to have something in my stomach.

At 8:03 I’m on my way to Neumos, just in time. I arrive. No one’s here yet. No matter, I have important tasks ahead. First thing’s first: I need a beer.

As soon as I walk through the door, I’m on my way to the bar. “I need a Rainier,” I call out to the bartender loudly. “Don’t have one,” he replies in a dismissive tone. I’ve put him off already, and I haven’t even bought a drink. There’s no Rainiers at Neumos — they tell me they’re brewed in LA. Apparently Los Angeles brews the best Seattle-based beer. An unexpected irony.

Since there’s no crowd tonight, I go upstairs and find myself a table. None of the viewing area is available, so I ask to share a table with two young women. But on the other half of the table, there’s a “reserved” sign. VIP has yet to arrive.

The only free table is by a wall; luckily, a TV of the empty stage is above me, so even a pillar of concrete can’t block my show experience.

Then, Monsterwatch graced the stage.

A brief crescendo straight into punk; a melancholy voice backed up by an intensity — Talking Heads meets The White Stripes.

Soon, the Neumos floor is filled. A flood of beanies and Columbia jackets stood before the opening act. The night was purple, black.

Monsterwatch surely was the darkest, most intense band of the night. Apparently The Coathangers have been making major waves in the indie scene, and I was here to see for myself. Would this Atlanta trio pull it off and wryle up Seattle?! I didn’t know what to expect.

The night was still young, even for Seattle on a Thursday night.

Monsterwatch is a trio: guitar, bass and drums. In fact, every band on this bill is a trio. The holy trinity of 2010s indie rock. Monsterwatch packed a punch that I wouldn’t see for the remainder of the night. Opening for King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard would be appropriate for this threesome. The drummer, Jack Cornwell, donned a Henry Rollins shirt, while the guitarist, John Spinney, and bassist, Ben Parker, were dressed like post-modern James Deans.

The crowd dances like the goth kids on South Park, mimicking the melancholy of Spinney’s voice. Yet, both have an intensity, shuffling about but never far from their personal space. It’s a nervousness most Seattleites are accustomed to. Spinney performs on and offstage, sometimes taking the mic into the crowd and performing recklessly. A chaotic energy that once dominated the Seattle music scene.

The vocalist ends the night climbing up the stairs and giving an older gentleman his guitar. “The man is a goddamn rockstar,” I exclaim to myself outloud.

It’s a Seattle crowd tonight: dark clothes, beanies, and flat-billed hats. Everyone had a piece of pseudo-hiking clothing on,  including me with my Vibram boots. Most people were in their late 20s to mid 30s, but quite a few were older. I might’ve been the youngest in the crowd, at 23, amazingly. Seattle was once a city of youth. It’s main claim to musical fame was once Kurt Cobain — the epitome of youthful angst and rebellion.

Times have changed in this Amazonian town. People with families and “real jobs” are the norm. Unless your music plays well to a KEXP audience, you’ll likely be made to make another metropolis your artistic home. Tonight was a testament to the Seattle scene, its core audience, and the music they enjoy: indie pop with grunge overtones and just the right amount of intensity.

Then, SadGirl graces the stage. The upper deck empties once again. Chords ring out like a new age Beach Boys song. Surf-rock is the jive with a lot of these new wave, indie rock groups. There’s something psychedelic about these chord progressions. They translate well in a contemporary context.

As the set progresses, my cold becomes more overpowering. Maybe two cans of Seattle Cider Dry — in lieu of Rainier —wasn’t the best idea. I hit my inhaler more than twice throughout the night.

SadGirl reminds me of a jam band; they take their time to get to the singing, allowing breathing room. Time for the audience to take it all in. Red light dominates the SadGirl set, in contrast to the purple overtones of Monsterwatch.

The instrumental interludes are where this band really comes to life. Nothing to seems to hold them back. The guitarist/singer carries the intensity until a grand finale and outro. “More of this,” I think to myself.

The Coathangers came with the energy of a headliner. The blue and gold lighting seemed to affirm a sort of royalty. Headlining a national tour, it feels right to take the stage with such force. The room fills with anticipation.

There’s a point where the guitarist/vocalist claims to the crowd that they are “kind of local,” though the reasoning behind her statement isn’t all that clear. People around me give that expression as if to say, “did she just say that?!,” and soon the energy begins to die down.

As they announce their last song, I head out the door. I don’t want to get trampled at the end of a show — I’ve learned that lesson the hard way.

I head out and prepare myself for yet another breakfast burrito. A few meters behind, a crowd begins to form. I hurry my pace, so I don’t get caught in a line.

Got out just in time.