DYLAN Slocum is the first to admit that Monday night is an unconventional appointment for a loud dose of punk rock.
The bespectacled guitarist, singer and, crucially, the lyricist of Los Angeles rock band Spanish Love Songs, seems genuinely surprised by the strong turnout for the Newcastle leg of the cult band's inaugural Australian tour.
Slocum, known for lyrics drawn from a vein of acerbic wit and withering self-assessment, admits to the attentive crowd that he, personally, would never go to a gig on a Monday night.
The crowd's energy remains at a simmer after Spanish Love Songs' full-blooded opener Routine Pain, but Slocum's impassioned brand of rock is designed to rouse an audience.
The five-piece's songs, more than most, meet the over-used term of "anthemic" - fist-pumping choruses holding aloft memorable lines of universal appeal.
You don't want to sing along, but you need to.
The crowd soon comes to life, albeit with sober Monday night enthusiasm, invoked by a high-energy set of songs that heavily favours their more recent output, never venturing as far back as their 2015 debut Giant Sings the Blues.
An eager contingent presses into the front barricade, singing every word to every song - even the new tracks from Spanish Love Songs' fourth record, No Joy, released this Friday.
It turns out this enthusiastic mob were at the band's Sydney show the previous evening. So enamoured were they with the set, that they travelled to Newcastle for a Monday night mission.
One keen fan at the front begs for a track from their first album, Bright Day. With a suspicious glance, Slocum asks the fan if he was at the previous night's show, when someone requested the song and the band attempted an unrehearsed, and ultimately unsatisfactory, rendition.
The fan insists he was not. Slocum politely turns down the request.
He'd rather not play the song than butcher it. But throughout the show the fan will go on to request Bright Day about six more times, in what morphs into a running joke that the singer takes with good humour.
Slocum, tall and broad, casts a vast shadow. He's a big presence on stage. His wife and keyboardist Meredith Van Woert paints with her fingers at the back of the stage, adding colour, filling in the lines of each song.
Drummer Ruben Duarte hits the skins like he's training for 12 rounds with Tyson Fury, locked with his rhythm section counterpart Trevor Dietrich, who sings back harmonies and dances about in his corner.
Lead guitarist Kyle McAulay is an understated contributor, never flashy, as he occasionally offers a backing vocal and or weaves a tasteful guitar line.
Spanish Love Songs might not have the most original sound - every song fires the memory synapses of your brain, a filmic montage of Bruce Springsteen, Gaslight Anthem, Manchester Orchestra, The Mountain Goats and even our very own Smith Street Band.
But Slocum's a talented wordsmith and has his own voice as a writer, world-weary, a self-described purveyor of "grouchrock".
He can unearth a strong metaphor and a cutting sentiment with a deft turn of phrase.
By the end of the full-throttle set, Slocum's glasses are slicked to near opaqueness with sweat.
While rocking out, they fall from his head. He can't see through them anyway.
The band take their well-earned leave after 15 songs - none of them ballads - in a set that's been more shade than light. Loud, sustained in volume and emotionally charged.
You can tell Spanish Love Songs are done. They've left nothing on stage. This has been supreme expenditure for a Monday.
But Slocum returns on his own, guitar in hand. This is not a planned encore. He's going to play Bright Day.
