The overall feeling of the record is radiation from all directions. It highlights both the high and the low, the retro and the futuristic, the self-styled and the reconstituted. All of that aside, it’s an unmistakably fun record with enough bump for your next deck party.

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Javelin brings sounds of familiarity, something you would find blasting out a car window along a main drag of Whittier Blvd or the most eastern park of Sunset. This feeling made the audience comfortable enough to dance and sway together in a converted warehouse off Beverly Blvd. full of strangers, as we imagined the sun hitting our shoulders.

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Nguyen is radiant—almost spilling into you as she plays, a glorious mess of hair, skin and technicolor dress—and a particularly young front row cooed approvingly up at her as she played. Though she’s only 24, her lyrics dispense an amazing amount of truth and wisdom and walloping wit—songs so sharply observed that it’s almost as if she’s telling your future. Her voice seems to slip through the octaves, as if she’s splitting every syllable in her lyrics, and live it’s like watching bubbles fill up a bathtub. When she performs, it’s raw interaction between elements, and as the sound of her words hit you, you’ll see stars.

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The dynamic between Danny and Rena while on stage together is like watching a younger version of John Doe and Exene, even sounding like them as they trade off vocal responsibilities during their duets. The group’s jumpy raucousness presents the perfect kiss off to summer.

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Pearl Harbor’s music is one that connotes taking the most awesome sailboat trip of your life in the marina where Dennis Wilson drowned. Somehow his spirit floats to the top and incarnates itself into these rather young-looking purveyors who have based themselves upon that familiar sound.

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If Megafuan is the hyperactive child of the family, then Bowerbirds is the introvert. Their lyrical output is deep and heartfelt, like two lovers who are comforted only by the fact that each other exist. Their music is slow and could perhaps resemble the wind as it brushes across your face. Theirs is music to sway to.

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When Mwamwaya took the stage, it was almost as if the universe itself showed up simply to sing to us and smile back. Mwamwaya was accompanied by two female counterparts, one dancer and a back up singer supplying the show with enough vivaciousness to keep that shit popin’. The whole thing felt like an old school block party, just in time for summer—with dancing in the streets.

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I wish I had better words for each member’s abilities, truth be told. But I ended up completely losing my shit that night as the band seemed to strike the main vein. I was overcome to the point where all I could do was bust into my best truffle shuffle and badly sing along with each harmony. It’s what I’d imagine Grateful Dead fans felt like in the ’80s (no irony). I was nothing but powerless.

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First, a disclaimer: I’ve always been a sucker for harmonies. Can’t say where it’s originated from, but it’s built into these bones. Goes back to the Beach Boys to and Spector’s female vocal arrangements. That being, I swooned for Grizzly Bear, whose voices build into beautifully complicated contraptions. The four-part harmonies are their strong point, and each member somehow holds their own.

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Headlining that night was The Entrance Band. Not missing a beat, their set seemed to explode from the moment the members took the stage, with a fierce combination of psychedelic, blues, and rock—it almost feels like a martian attack on your soul, especially as Guy Blakeslee’s vocals reach their coda, like watching the sky opens up for the birth and death of an actual star.

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