At Studio East on Thursday, April 2

At this time of year, most teenagers the age of Clementine Creevy are worrying about things like university admissions and finding a date for prom. The 18-year-old singer-guitarist, on the other hand, is spending it touring North America’s West Coast with her group Cherry Glazerr. Given that two of the three band members are still in high school, it’s presumably not a coincidence that Thursday’s Studio East show came in the middle of the Los Angeles education system’s spring break.

This was an all-ages event, and many of the concertgoers who turned up to the East Van venue appeared to be even younger than the headliners. The teens were punctual, and by the time the Buttertones started at 9 p.m. sharp, there were already a few dozen fans crammed in front of the stage. 

 The openers launched into a string of angular postpunk scorchers, often venturing into garage-surf twanginess and at one point embracing vintage sock-hop pop. The hard-hitting tunes had the desired effect on the kids in the audience, who responded warmly to the 30-minute set.

Second on the bill was Sunflower Bean, a Brooklyn unit which made up for its lack of on-stage charisma with dreamy psychedelia and gorgeously jangling guitars. The trio made forays into muscular rock riffing and sweetly harmonized pop, but the real highlight was the fretboard heroism of singer-guitarist Nick Kivlen, who peppered the songs with hypnotic arpeggios and dazzling, feedback-laden solos.

The black-walled Studio East was dimly illuminated with strands of white bulbs, and decades-old movies—Alfred Hitchcock’s 1948 crime thriller Rope, a Jamaican feature called Rockers, and a couple of old French flicks—were projected onto the stage throughout the night. As the evening wore on, the empty space at the back of the room gradually filled up. The late arrivers looked distinctly older than the keeners up front, the age disparity highlighted by the fact that most of the folks near the back were sipping drinks. Meanwhile, one kid prowled the venue with a disposable camera. So much for the convenience of Instagram.

The lone Canadian act of the night was Michael Rault, who was joined by three backing players and informed the crowd, “We’re from Toronto, sort of.” Evidently the Alberta-born songwriter’s reputation preceded him, since one person hollered “Edmonton!”

With his denim jacket, moustache and shoulder-length hair, Rault looked a bit like he had wandered off the set of Dazed and Confused. This look was in keeping with the retro pastiche that was his music, as his material ranged from the swaggering riff-rock of “Real Love (Yeah)” to the glammy garage boogie of “Suckcess.” The performance was pleasantly energetic, although Rault relied a little too heavily on his ‘70s influences to make it truly memorable.

Finally, Cherry Glazerr arrived just before 11:40 p.m. to shrieks of delight from the high schoolers up front. Clutching a Rickenbacker six-string, Creevy greeted the assembled with a cheery, “What’s up Vancouver? It’s good to see you!”

The three-piece opened with songs from 2014’s Haxel Princess, and it quickly became clear that, the louder and faster the songs were, the more enraptured the onlookers became. Tunes like “Teenage Girl” and “White’s Not My Color This Evening” mixed half-time breaks with fiery, punk-tinged verses that whipped the punters into a head-bobbing frenzy of moshing and pogo-dancing.

The listless “Trick or Treat Dancefloor” sapped some of the momentum from the proceedings, but this was quickly redeemed by the fuzzy garage surge of “Sweaty Faces,” which was propelled by speedy rhythms from drummer Hannah Uribe and bassist Sean Redman. No one acted on the chorus’ lyrical invitation, “I want to see you jump on stage,” and fans instead opted to crush together in a teeming mass.

Many of Cherry Glazerr’s lyrics were simplistic and juvenile, particularly “Bloody Bandaid” (which included the line “We can crack jokes about poo”) and “Grilled Cheese” (which was about exactly what the title suggests). Luckily, none one was looking for deep poetry, and the dance floor remained full.

The night eventually ended on its strongest moment, with Creevy setting aside her instrument for a thundering new song that was led by distorted bass licks. The vocalist screamed her way through this last number with thrilling abandon, venturing to the edge of the stage and getting up close and personal with the front row.

During this display, the thinning crowd of aged folks watched calmly from the back. When the kids up front are going ballistic, the pit is no place for a 20-year-old.