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Due to no factor, but their killer schedule, Chelsea’s hosted the two rock shows I hit this week. I mean, I’m not playing favorites, but I’m glad to see it thriving in the new location. Thursday’s survey started with a very abbreviated set by 225 favorite Harlan, which traded in some of the pop sheen found on the album for more straight-forward indie rock, and I say all the better. I’ve seen plenty of studio wizards attempt to recreate their Impressionist masterpiece on stage and fail miserably. When in doubt, rock it out. Too brief of a set even for the opening of the opening act, though.

The spirit stick for the week belongs to second act, Margot and the Nuclear So-and-So’s, in particular, their charismatic percussionist-a-go-go Casey Tennis. There is no Margot (well there is, it’s a cat – probably much to the consternation of keyboardist Emily Watkins, the bands only female member.) Instead, the songs revolve around singer-guitarist Richard Edwards, an affable front man who writes nice melodies that are well fleshed out with cello, two drummers, bass, electric piano and trumpet. But, really had it not been for Tennis’s wave of charisma, they would’ve been lost among an increasing din of Arcade Fire clones. A fun show, nonetheless.

The headliners, San Francisco’s Film School, whose album has not left my car stereo for two weeks prior to the show, provided the best 80’s alternative revivalist sets I’ve heard yet. With the swirly, swooping, swooning solar flares of guitar, a sub-funk throbbing bass groove and a vocalist that sounds eerily like Robert Smith from the Cure – it all works magnificently to recapture one of the few things that were good about the 80’s. It reminded me of Valley Girl, when Randy (Nicholas Cage’s first role under that name) brought his preppy girlfriend to a “punk” club to see the Plimsouls rock out, and exclaims, “This music has heart! It has soul! It means something!” The New wave era has earned a lot of the mockery upon which it is foisted, but it’s easy to forget that there were glorious moments too, and Film School’s take on it brought it all back in a rush.

Saturday’s show with the Gourds was just as great. The opening act, New Orleans drummerless, classic country outfit Country Fried, didn’t really take with me, and I like corny old country music. There was a Waylon tune or two, but really, the band came across a touch animatronic, like what would be on the stage if Cracker Barrel and Chuck E. Cheese were to merge. The Gourds, however, were in excellent, slightly subdued form. I’ve seen them a couple times before and they have been a nitro injected, mandolin augmented funny car of a band, and while they are one of the more effectively silly groups in the overly serious alt-country environment, they brought it down a notch to focus on the groove. The Gourds are superb regardless of what gear they are in.

Most folks know them only for their bluegrass cover of Snoop Dogg’s “Gin and Juice” and despite pleas from those folks all night, we were left ginless and juiceless. But the thing is, The Gourds walk a fine line between genius and novelty, in that their novelty tunes are genius. The did play my favorite of their songs, “El Paso,” a loopy stream of conscious rambling on the absurdity of living in West Texas. And more importantly, they were fun, and fun does not seem to be priority one with most bands running today.

IT’S MY HAPPENING, AND IT FREAKS ME OUT

Wed., June 7: Nuevo Hippie Cover Band follow the mission statement and set you to doing the hippie spin-dance at Chelsea’s.

Fri., June 9: Justinbailey kicks out the jams at Spanish Moon. The Cassettes threaten to unravel before your very eyes at the Red Star. Captain Legendary Band appear at the North Gate Tavern

Sat., June 10: The Honored Guests rock up the dance party at the Red Star, Mississippi’s Color Revolt appear at Spanish Moon supported by local lovables Blessed Yes, Secret Annexe and Terror of the Sea. Peckernut, Wolf System and Silence of the Orphan Moon promise to paint it black at North Gate Tavern.

Mon., June 12: Austin’s quizzically titled Quien es, BOOM charm their way into the Red Star with their sweet counterpoint and scrappy lyrics.