After starting at the 1051, John Zeps’ addition to his empire and a welcome all-ages venue that promises to hold many moments of Indianapolis rock history, I got to the Alley Cat in time to catch Everything, Now!. The leader, Jon Rogers, whipped dervish, frothy swirls of sound from his band. Playing in the alley outside the Alley Cat was trés cool — all graffiti, grime and brick — total rock and roll.

When Devil To Pay started up their metal magic, things heated up quickly. Chad Prifogle, probably the most underrated drummer in the city, manhandled the kit with a ruthless passion rarely seen outside the boxing ring. Guitarist Billy Lee continued to impress, his slice and dice Gibson attack adding an interesting undercurrent of thrash to the gloomy terror coming from the rest of the beast.

Then it was on to see Beta Male, Action Strasse and Creepin’ Charley and the Boneyard Orchestra at the former Patio. The venue is called Spin Nightclub now, but when the crowd filled in and the sweat and energy hit, the room still had that same lingering greatness all great rock rooms never really lose.

Beta Male took advantage of this energy, roaring out of the gate. P. David Hazel’s new musical outfit may just be his ticket out of the sticks. It was a breathtaking show. Vess Ruhtenburg was, as usual, lighting the place on fire with some tasty guitar work. Their songs were Euro-trashy in a good way; they were angular and day-glo, yet organic enough to stick to the ribs.

After Beta Male’s set, I ran over to catch Christian Taylor and Chris Haskett performing a singer-songwriter “round-robin” with Chad Mills. Taylor’s vocals and weird lyrics made for a compelling acoustic performance.

Then I returned to Spin and caught a strong set from Action Strasse, whose “Kids in a Hurry” remained stuck in my head the next day. As much as I love the chemistry that John Zeps and Vess Ruhtenberg cook up on their guitars, when Creepin’ Charley and the Boneyard Orchestra came on, I had no choice but to bow before my favorite guitarist in town. On his worst day, Eric Grimmitt is miles beyond almost any other local guitarist. He can do no wrong; even with Shelby Kelley flailing about next to him, he remains the star of the show.

Next it was off to the Melody Inn to end the night, and I walked into the middle of Atomic Bombay’s set. It was the surprising highlight of the night. Frankie Camaro pulled out an instrumental surf-rock version of Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t Fear the Reaper” that melted my mind, and then he closed the set out with a 20-minute rendition of “Miserlou” that had the place madly dancing.

Acid Green played next, and they served an hour of exactly what makes Hoosier rock so good. Gym Stoffer, one of the best oddball lead singers this city has ever seen, didn’t disappoint. Reciting filthy poetry, diving into the crowd and then wallowing on the floor, he was frightening at times but a perfect frontman. Acid Green’s Bob Cripe and John Zeps took loud, noisy guitar freak-out heaviness to the max, as Gregg Stewart played to Stoffer’s antics. But Prifogle drove the whole thing into overdrive. His unbelievably brutish drum attack, especially on “Buddy,” was one of the most inhumane things I’ve ever seen.

After the smoke cleared, I drove home from the BRFMF. I’d seen some of the best of what Indy has to offer, and it held the savage heart, pumping the black blood of rock and roll.