Some highlights of the March 6 Stranger Young Ones showcase, a benefit for Real Change:
• Sleepy Eyes of Death's wall of light and sound (and fog). With their man Alejandro running the boards at Neumo's, these guys sounded nothing short of massive, their rhythms rolling over the audience like a tank, crescendos louder than bombs. A sound argument for earplugs.
• "Secret guest" PWRFL Power's runny nose (Kazutaka Nomura was double-booked to play the Comet that night, hence the secrecy). For his opening performance, Kaz played an acoustic guitar and sang to a small, appreciative crowd at Sole Repair that kept quiet during all the quiet parts, laughed at all the funny parts, and seemed to generally love his show. But during the occasional instrumental section, when Kaz wasn't spazzing/rocking out and shaking his head around epileptically, when his face was close to the microphone as he deftly picked at his guitar, you could hear Kaz's sniffling picked up in the PA. Maybe he had a cold. Maybe not.
• Talbot Tagora's indecipherable speech about gentrification (see story, page 35) and their divisively discordant postpunk, which friends seemed to love or hate with no middle ground. (To the two underage members of Talbot Tagora: Sorry you guys had to wait outside during the show.)
• The Moondoggies' climactic performance of "Black Bird." Their packed set at Sole Repair bodes well for the new Hardly Art signees, and this song, their catchiest original number, was the moment their CSN&Y moonshine still really burst into flame.
• Throw Me the Statue's screaming fans. Probably the most rapidly ascending act out of this year's Young Ones, Throw Me the Statue backed up their hype with a casual, confident set of smart power pop. They never did play the repeatedly requested "Yucatan Gold," but they did deliver the delicately rocking "Young Sensualists" (it's a mandolin on the chorus, not a banjo—my mistake) and "About to Walk," both standout tracks from their debut album, Moonbeams, which was recently rereleased on Secretly Canadian. If the point hasn't already been made here clearly enough, this album is simply fantastic, full of clever, confessional lyrics, memorable melodies, and refined rocking out. Repeat listening only reveals more to love. (When I spoke to them last year, singer Scott Reitherman noted the difference between their album, which he recorded mostly alone at home, and their live set, which realizes those songs as a five-piece rock band. That difference is far less pronounced than it was just months ago, with the band meeting the album halfway, better balancing its more nuanced moments with their pogoing live energy; the fact that dude can even hit the right notes on a glockenspiel while jumping up and down is amazing.)
• Truckasauras's Real Change intro. Several bands throughout the night were introduced, or at least preceded, by speakers representing Real Change, the homeless-advocacy newspaper for which the night was a benefit, but only Truckasauras took those voices into their own hands, triggering prerecorded voices of Real Change hawkers from their sampler, creating a sound collage that was funny and poignant, playful but respectful. Their set was great as usual, but this was the best part.
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Last year's Young Ones the Pleasureboaters played Healthy Times Fun Club a couple weeks back, and damn if they still aren't one of the most exciting young rock bands in town. These guys are on a serious Arab on Radar/Chinese Stars tip—discordant punk noise bursting into loose disco grooves, Ricky Claudon wailing psychopathic, kids and band members flailing and rolling around on the floor—and it fucking kills.
An official copy of their debut Don't Stop Believin' CD, Gross, just came across my desk, which is fortunate, because I seem to have lost the Sharpied CD-R the band gave me some months ago. This album never really got the slobbering adoration it should've from The Stranger, which is too bad, because it's a start-to-finish solid, searing punk-rock blast. The recording sounds great—the drums punch and kick, the bass is grungy without losing its low-end rumble, the guitars scrape and scream, and Claudon's vocals circle above the fray like a hurricane. Still, Gross has nothing on the Pleasureboaters' raucous live show, which is without a doubt one of the best going in Seattle right now. Go see this band in a basement while you still can.
All right, let us never speak of Young Ones again (until next year); let us instead be drunk in Austin, Texas, for SXSW. Hangover and between-blackout flashes of critical insight from that festival here next week. 
