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Black versus purple and gold: that was the scene outside Club 3 Degrees in downtown Minneapolis Monday night, Aug. 14. Maybe a hundred postmodern punks waited patiently along North 5th Street while “well-fueled” Vikings tailgaiters trailed by on their way to the Metrodome to revel in the NFL team’s preseason home game against the Oakland Raiders.

“What’s going on here?” a jersey-clad fan asked of the youngsters in the queue.

“A concert…Showbread,” a few replied.

Heads shook in bewilderment on both sides of the sidewalk.

Once the club doors opened, the crowd became much more homogenous inside: tight, dark T’s, “bed head” hairdos, droopy shoulder bags and Chuck Taylors abounded. The floor had been cleared in front of the stage, and young people either took their places up front or dashed to the merch tables at the back of the room. I scanned the crowd to see what was on these kids’ minds. Their T-shirts revealed their allegiances and beliefs: a sequened cross (ala Skillet), “Finding ‘Emo’,” Fox, every Underoath T-shirt every available, and (my favorite) a black T with simple block letters: MONDAY.

Host Joey ILO, much more on top of his game with these youngsters than with the twenty-/thirty-something crowd before which I saw him back in April, took the stage to introduce the local openers, Children 18:3. He mentioned the band’s newest CD, Sounds of Desperation, which evoked much applause and screaming from those standing front and center.

The Hostetter siblings—David Jr. (vocals/guitar), Seth (drums) and Leemarie (bass/vocals)—sauntered to their amps and flipped a few switches. Seconds later the stage erupted in a lovely chaotic mess of flinging guitars, flipping hair, and twirling drumsticks. David sang through a stringy curtain of black hair while furiously down-strumming his black Les Paul. Leemarie tossed around her white Fender bass like it was a marching band rifle. Watch out Squad Five-O and MewithoutYou: Children 18:3 are viable contenders for best live band ever! For a three-piece, Children 18:3 sounded astoundingly BIG. They held the crowd in their hand for all of their brief set. Ramones. AC/DC. The Donnas. Air kicks. Amp jumps. Cross-stage sprints. Torn jeans. Crimped hair. Fist pumps. Blown kisses. Rock ‘n’ roll electricity. Children 18:3.

As the band left the stage, I wished for lottery winnings to keep Children 18:3 on permanent retainer so I could call upon them anytime I wanted to ROCK! Their blistering new release Songs of Desperation and a pair of earphones will have to suffice for now.

A pair of bands unfamiliar to me took the stage prior to Showbread: an Arkansas six-piece, Kingsdown, who looked pretty green, like a band trying to find their sound/look, and The Finalst, a finely tuned, road-trained band from Texas.

The mostly open floor quickly filled with Showbread fans during the changeover. The crowd began to cheer the second the screen behind the stage ascended, signaling that Showbread was ready to go. Wearing their Age of Reptiles matching olive green shorts and black shirts, the band instantly assaulted the crowd with live raw rock. Periodically one of the band would hop atop one of three lighted blocks set up at the front of the stage. The eerie glow from underneath made a striking visual impact, prompting stray arms to jut up above the crowd to snap a camera phone pic.

The crowd resembled a choppy lake of mussed up hair bobbing to the throbbing Showbread beat. Deep keytar swells and thunderous guitars kept the whitecap waves of furry black skulls and fists undulating throughout the 45-minute set. The spectacle would actually be a little frightening, if not for the fact that Showbread screams out such lyrics as, “I am just the voice of one who’s greater than this. But I am still a sacred voice, I will not be dismissed!” Leadman Josh Dies’ pleas for tips for the Invisible Children fund and plugs for buying T-shirts that support another benevolent organization also shed the proper light on what could appear to be a scene of dark destruction.

As the punks and partiers again rubbed shoulders on the way out of town, at least one half of the mix were utterly disappointed. The Vikings lost 16-13. Anyone inside Club 3 Degrees that night walked away elated.