First lesson learned by the newly pre-reopened Crocodile: You run out of booze, you lose… three-quarters of your crowd.

Tragedy [/hyperbole] struck before 10 pm last night when the near-capacity turnout depleted the Croc’s bars of their entire stock of beer and wine (the club had just gotten its liquor license earlier in the day and didn’t have time to stock other kinds of alcohol, according to talent booker Eli Anderson). “I guess this is a test to see who the real music fans are,” Anderson observed, as punters streamed toward the exits after the Quiet Ones’ set upon discovering dry bars.

The night started promisingly, however. We arrived at the refurbished Crocodile at 9 pm to a pretty packed, happy throng of Seattle music-scene glitterati (well, those who weren’t in Austin for SXSW, anyway). Fellow club/bar owners, music journos, DJs, John Roderick of the Long Winters, Lucy Atkinson of Kinski, a few curious electronic-music heads, avid music fans of several stripes, record-store employees, KEXP listeners, and the stinkin' drunk, old-hippie transient who reeked of bottom-shelf wine were in the house for this historic occasion. And Slats… who, upon learning that all the beer had been consumed, stoically moved on to another watering hole. The bars along 2nd Ave. did booming business.

Entrance to the Croc is now on Blanchard St. Customers walk down a longish corridor straight to the long, attractive bar; once there you glance right to view the stage, which is much larger than previously. The sight lines are great. The ceiling’s much higher. A dark burgundy glow suffuses the room. Wood paneling lends it a ski-lodge aura. The balcony is smallish but has its own bar and its walls are lined with artful show posters. The sound up there could be better, but it was robust on the main floor (soundman supreme Jim Anderson is back at the controls, so all should be awesome very soon). The bathrooms looked way fancier than expected, but the men’s room already had piss and beer on the floor by 9:30 (some things never change). Via Tribunali restaurant is on site, but I couldn't locate it, though I did see a window where orders could be placed. Whatever the case, the feng shui of the entire joint seems to be greatly improved. You'll be shocked to learn that nobody here mourned the loss of that huge-ass post. You have to try hard not to be happy to be there.

Word was, Peter Buck, Robyn Hitchcock, and Scott McCaughey christened the stage for friends and family before the official 8:30 start time. For the show proper, local quartet the Quiet Ones ran through their straightforward, alternately brooding and tempestuous rock to a crowd of around 450 (capacity is 560). One song recalled early, vital R.E.M., many others the solid but unspectacular fare issued by indie labels like Secretly Canadian and Jagjaguwar. Near the end, the Quiet Ones kicked into a klassik motorik rhythm and the guitarist channeled Michael Rother of Neu!'s spangly, spare tone. As an eternal sucker for this m.o., I say, more, please.

By the time the Kindness Kind settled into their Dresden Dolls-y cabaret/new-wave rock, the audience had thinned considerably. Had I no journalistic obligations, I would’ve joined the exodus. The Seattle quintet are competent at what they do, but this style—with Alessandra’s overly dramatic vocals, Nicolas’ hamfisted Alesis/Nord synth pounding, mostly lumbering rhythms—just doesn’t click with me. Sorry, the Kindness Kind.

Hypatia Lake came on around 11:15 to a sparse gathering of die-hard music heads. The Emerald City foursome seemed somewhat deflated by the meager crowd, but put their heads down and mustered some intensity. The opening song was a fibrillating wall of psych rock, setting the tone for the rest of the performance: dense, snarling, furrow-browed, heavy rock with transcendent aspirations. One track sounded like ’80s Brit trance-rockers Loop covering Ted Nugent’s slow-boiling “Stranglehold.” Hypatia Lake appear to have everything under control, but it would be cool to see them loosen the reins sometimes and really rocket into deep space. I hope they get another chance to flex their muscular yet cerebral psychedelia here soon.

Tonight Akimbo, Brothers of the Sonic Cloth (Tad Doyle's latest project), and Patrol play another free show at 8 pm (21+). Saturday, the Crocodile officially opens for business with Hot Buttered Rum and Everyone Orchestra playing [see Paul Constant's blurb on the former here]. Croc staff will work out some kinks, undoubtedly, and if all goes well, thirsts will be quelled with the same thoroughness as aural desires.

All photos by Alex Crick.

(More photos by Kate Coffee after the cut.)