Thursday night I joined the teensters and scenesters at The Club @ Water Street to catch The Hedrons, a female punk rock quartet from Scotland. The band played raw and snotty punk to the half-filled joint with the same energy most bands reserve for a full house. They were cute but genuinely ballsy. They looked like they could drink and fight. So while bands like The Donnas are in the ladies' re-applying lip gloss, The Hedrons are gonna be at the bar stealing their boyfriends. Or beating them up.

The four lasses seemed a little taken aback by the crowd's lack of physical enthusiasm, though it was clear the people dug the band. In what could be a mantra for this town, about three songs into the set, the drummer shouted "Wake the fuck up, Rochester!" I think it's better than that "Made for Living" shite, don't you?

The Boulder Coffee cats have been cool enough to host some satellite shows for A/V Space while it does the relocation mambo. Last Thursday night's show had Ithaca's Dufus on stage. Now if I were to be the off-the-cuff guy I try not to be (but still wind up being every now an then), I'd say it was one of the worst things I'd ever heard. It was loud, shrill, and stupid. But I stuck it out for a few more tunes and discovered that the on-stage insanity was actually tandem chaos. Though loosely tethered, both members of the duo were on the same page; the songs were actually written that way. And despite my dislike for what was coming out, it elicited a response, and conveyed ideas, and laid down challenges - much the same way music I actually like does. I might even check them out again.

The Hi-Risers' shows at The Dinosaur are starting to get a bit tight. Everybody wants to here that rock 'n' roll beat. Holding court at the bar Friday night was Los Straitjackets' Eddie Angel, who lent some twang to the trio's bang. The band was tight and swinging, just like the dance floor - and any flat surface in the joint that could accommodate happy feet.