Holy Fuck earned their expletive as always on Friday night, managing to get a crowd thousands-deep rocking out to their instrumental, electronic kraut-rock/out-rock jams. The upward-sliding, glossy string glissandi on "Lovely Allen" provided peak after ecstatic peak.

!!! played the single best set I saw all weekend—although it wasn't their (still fine) Main Stage set Saturday night, it was their three-song, on-air set for KEXP in Caffe Vita's bean room that afternoon. Nic Offer shamelessly changed the chorus of single "AM/FM" to various permutations of "KEXP 90.3," after having told the crowd to "call in and request this song all the time" (they better get a lot of play off that one). He scaled the stacked sacks of coffee beans behind the band (he and Buffalo Madonna ought to have a climb-off/aggro-frontman-off sometime), then danced and struck disco poses from his perch, leaning back against the wall and running his hands down it all sexylike. He screamed right up in the faces of the audience members seated in rows of benches up front, then freaked his way through the sporadically dancing crowd, getting every stiff-limbed Seattleite he passed squirming to the beat, grinding up on everyone from a couple of younger girls to KEXP DJ Kevin Cole and local music writer Chris Estey. Offer leaned into Shannon Funchess's mic to sing a chorus of "Must Be the Moon," and she ad-libbed between lines, "Your breath smells like coffee... must be the Seattle coffee." Shameless. And the band's synth and brass-spiked disco jams sounded simply outstanding.

The Dead Weather are essentially Civil War re-creationists for people too young to have seen Led Zeppelin. The difference between them and every other band playing Block Party is that the Dead Weather are fucking rock stars. They just sweat a different kind of star power than was on display the rest of the weekend. When Jack White howls from behind his kit and Alison Mosshart wails, bends back, drops to her knees, and finally crumples down onto the stage, holding the harsh note on the mic the whole time, well, it's a damn convincing spectacle.

Thanks to a once-in-a-lifetime scheduling anomaly, Jack White basically opened for Truckasauras on Sunday night. It might have been the biggest single show the band has ever played, Neumos stuffed to sweaty capacity, with a line to get in the door about a mile long, and the boys definitely made the most of the opportunity. The sound was thick and deep, the synth bass lines massive and rumbling and round, the drum machines cracking, the acidic synth lines chirping against their cutoff filters; it was the most dialed-in of any set I heard all weekend (kudos, Neumos sound crew). The band closed with its peppy, poppy newish number "Quarters," which is named for the old Kirkland video arcade and which basically sounds like a bunch of arcade games having a rave after the humans close up shop, lock the doors, and go home for the night. Couples were grinding, a guy was dancing on the rim of a trash can, drunk blonds were barging their way to the front. The whole place was hyped. Truckasauras rocked it.

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