The Ground Beneath Gets Live—Steve Civerolo, lead singer and guitarist of Burque metalheads The Ground Beneath, called me from somewhere in Missouri last week. It was the second time in as many months I've talked to the band from their touring vehicle, The Van Beneath, while en route to a gig outside New Mexico. This is not a band of slackers. (Steve keeps a complete log of every show the band has played at www.thegroundbeneath.com.) And to put an exclamation point on all the intense touring and promotion they do, TGB is made up of just three people. (Although I like to think of their long, luxurious hair as the group's fourth member. It's silent but violent.)

If you walk through the doors of Royalty Life Records on any given Sunday evening, you won’t see white-collared, middle-aged men discussing ways to dominate the music industry. Instead, you'll see a group of young gentlemen, no older than 23, discussing the agenda of a full-fledged independent recording company.

The first time I saw Black Tie Dynasty was at a little club on the crusty edge of downtown Dallas called The Double-Wide. A little after midnight, the band shoved their way onto the stage as I waited, sipping a drink in the back of the darkened, bunker-like room. Eventually things settled and their set began.

Before pop punk had its balls chopped by blood-sucking MTV clones, there were brash and bratty bands like Screeching Weasel and The Queers. On Wednesday, June 20, The Queers remind us what melodic punk really sounds like, with Italian stallions The Manges, plus The Rum Fits and T.G.M.B. All-ages at the Launchpad. $10. (LM)

I'm probably one of the only showgoers in town who's never stopped in on an of god and science gig. Shame on me. Gorgeously executed and recorded, original discs like this one make me proud of our not-so-little-anymore music scene. It's easy to get distracted by the careful arrangements and pitch-perfect pop hooks on this self-titled release. If you're paying attention, you'll also catch some wonderfully subtle drum work. I'd love to smash these guys into genre Tupperware for you, but some of their mellow, alt.country, indie, Beatles-influenced goodness would surely slop over the side.

I spent my youth, like most anyone in this town, at smoky, mostly boring house parties or in coffee shops drinking $1.26 refillable cups of joe until my pee ran clear. There's not a lot to do here if you're not of boozing age, unless you start something yourself. Like a band.