I’m back at the Bunkhouse at 8 p.m. Saturday for local punk band Good Grief. It’s the earliest set I’ve caught all weekend, but it’s worth it, as the group’s only played house shows up to this point. Running 15 minutes past schedule, Good Grief makes up for the lost time with its short and concise Ramones-y songs, each one clocking in at around a minute, including my favorite track, “Eat Sh*t,” off of their November EP. Things shift abruptly at the end as the set turns into an impromptu Clouded Judgment show, with Good Grief’s drummer coming to the front to sing lead vocals. Featuring most of the members of Good Grief, Clouded Judgment brings a way more aggressive feel to the Bunkhouse, amping up the crowd for the next set.

I hop over to Beauty Bar to catch the tail end of SadGirl. Not knowing anything about the LA band, I end up ranking SadGirl one of my favorite sets of the festival and easily my favorite “find” of the night. Reminiscent of Shannon and the Clams, Singer Misha Lindes' nasally vocals pair perfectly with the group’s surfy, jangly, rock 'n’ roll and riffs. Toward the end of the set, Lindes shreds on guitar during a Metallica cover, making it virtually unrecognizable with the surfy, lo-fi treatment.

“Is anyone here from Summerlin?” asks Fredward singer Beau Dobney back at the Bunkhouse. When no one raises a hand, he follows up: “Well good, 'cause somebody lives there, and I’m glad it’s not any of you guys.” I catch the last bit of the alterna-punk rockers' set, which is a perfect, high-energy match for the night’s bill.

During that set change I see Daniel James of Austin’s Leopold and His Fiction in the Bunkhouse backyard, unnoticeable from the last time I saw him perform. With newly bleached-blond hair and a clean-shaven face (minus the signature mustache), James has taken on yet another alter ego, looking more like a buff Thin White Duke (or self-described Italian version of Street Fighter character Guile) than his previous turn-of-the-century persona. And his stage antics are more bizarre than ever. As the Las Vegas frequenters dive into their set, James straddles his flying-V-shaped guitar, hopping around in a manner that would be hard to take seriously if the band weren’t so good live. His vocals are more powerful than I’ve heard during previous gigs, and his solos prove that, although they may be gimmicky, they have the chops to back up the antics.

Up next at midnight is Vegas pop-punk outfit Mercy Music, and judging from the size of the crowd, they’ve clearly come to be one of the city’s most anticipated live acts. Guitarist/singer Brendan Scholz charges through each song, including a handful of new ones and my personal favorite—the electrifying and razor-tongued “Lightning.” Scholz and his band are better every time I see them, and they show no signs of slowing down. At this rate, I’m surprised they aren’t heading to South by Southwest this week.

At 1 a.m. we get what we've been waiting for, Philadelphia headliners Beach Slang. The group brings one of the most charismatic and supercharged sets I’ve seen at any edition of Neon Reverb, and I'm surprised to see the Bunkhouse at half-capacity for this Saturday headliner. It isn’t a bad turnout, but judging from the packed house for Neon Indian at Fremont Country Club on Friday, it seems as if punk bands are taking a backseat to the dancier gets on Neon Reverb’s roster.

Playing cuts like “Young & Alive” off debut LP The Things We Do To Find People Who Feel Like Us and “Filthy Luck” from the Who Would Ever Want Anything So Broken? EP, singer/guitarist James Alex tears through the set. An unexpected highlight is his candid stage banter. “We get too drunk and go into Replacements mode,” Alex says as guitarist Ruben Gallego asks for crowd requests, then solos random songs at will. “Pavement!” someone shouts, and Gallego shoots back with “Don’t Fear the Reaper.” “The TSA took my cowbell away,” Alex says, launching the guys into a whole different spiral, as they start singing, “The TSA took my cowbell away” to the tune of the Ramones’ “The KKK Took My Baby Away.” Before the night is over we get a cover of Jawbreaker’s “Boxcar,” Alex’s throaty, low register sounding almost exactly like singer Blake Schwarzenbach’s. At one point, Alex even throws his white hollow-body electric guitar across the stage.

Even without all the ruckus, Beach Slang’s show easily would’ve been one of the more memorable Neon Reverb shows, as Alex’s emotive vocals drive home each fuzzed-out, '90s-punk cut (especially on the band's most recognizable one, “American Girls And French Kisses"). The only thing that could’ve made the night better would have been a bigger turnout, but those who were here got to enjoy Beach Slang in all its glory—an intimate show that will no doubt go down in Neon Reverb history.