THERE WERE FEW common threads connecting the three bands on the June 1 bill at Elbo Room – other than, as I was later told, and probably in jest, that the singers from Scissors for Lefty and Birdmonster share the same hairdresser. Yet the mix of Jank's straight-up alt-rock, Scissors for Lefty's all-over-the-place survey of post-punk, and Birdmonster's fierce, emo-esque update on alt-country made for a rollicking midweek evening.

Jank, as my friend conveniently pegged them, resemble a physical and sonic amalgam of Queens of the Stone Age and Weezer – an apt comparison for all their saccharine pop hooks, 4/4 beats, equally jangling and distorted guitars, and uniform black shirts and ties. Their 30-odd-minute set was for the most part filled with radio-friendly pop tunes, each sounding a bit like the one before until they gave a rather ho-hum, pop-punk treatment to Boz Scaggs's "We're All Alone," with the "Close the window / come alight" chorus getting the predictably overdriven guitar fuzz one has come to expect with covers of '70s soft rockers. As Scaggs's back catalog, namely Silk Degrees (Columbia, 1976), has turned up with renewed frequency in my CD player of late, Jank's take on the blue-eyed soulster left me longing for home, where I might listen to the original.

But by the time Scissors for Lefty took the stage, any opening-band frustrations were gone. They kicked right into a new-wavy number, all squelchy synths and snappy, disco-happy drums – the respective efforts of brothers Peter and James Krimmel – summoning the spirits of Japan, Heaven 17, or the Pet Shop Boys until lead vocalist Bryan Garza erupted in a flurry of punchy vocal syncopations, edging the sound more toward punk than synth-pop. Too bad the effects delayed his voice by a half-bar or so, giving the sound a dizzying feel before settling back into an impenetrable groove.

Infectious, soulful, and extremely tight for a band of their experience, Scissors refused to relent for the entirety of their caffeinated set. Peter Krimmel stretched his keyboard's sounds to their limit, seemingly laying the groundwork and flavor for each song. His crisp organ tones set the melodic pace for "Ghetto Ways," getting the female contingent of the crowd – which made up more than half of the audience; they're lookers, these guys – off their butts and throwing themselves around on the dance floor with abandon. And when a song resembled the Cure, Pulp, or whatever other historically hip reference they were trying to call up, they looked to Krimmel first.

The audience was almost caught off-guard with headliner Birdmonster's fiery immediacy. Launching into "Cause You Can," the band wielded their instruments like weapons, yet kept their heavily guitar-driven sound nicely under control.

Vocalist Peter Arcuni and guitarist David Klein had a Boss-Van Zandt type of synergy, played up nicely with their onstage theatrics. They didn't go as far as the clichéd back-to-back man-bridge but instead worked a sort of campy stand-up spooning, completely natural and indicative of the band's skillful interplay.

When the band members weren't wearing their influences on their collective sleeve – Big Star, Jeff Buckley, and the 'Mats all come to mind – they wore them on their drum kit (one that hilariously bore At the Drive-In's insignia). Still, Birdmonster craftily injected sounds far out of left field into the tried-and-true college-rock aesthetic, twisting country-friendly, sometimes-angular indie rock into a much stranger and more intense beast. Bassist Justin Tenuto occasionally broke out his melodica, and during "No Midnight," he furiously plucked at the banjo and alternately screamed into its pickup, pushing their nearly traditional sound into even more unconventional territory. Give them a year or so and Fred Frith will be playing a dobro alongside them while a Mills grad programs their fidgety beats. Birdmonster play with Springfield and Wifey, June 28, 9 p.m., Bottom of the Hill, 1233 17th St., SF. $7. (415) 621-4455. Scissors for Lefty perform Wed/15, 9 p.m., Slim's, 333 11th St., SF. $13. (415) 255-0333. (Ken Taylor)