Indie rock has always been a fairly oxymoronic genre.

It's angry, yet the kids who listen to it are generally gentle dorks whose only grudge is against their middle-class upbringing. It consists of songs written largely about girls, but the poor hygiene and thrift-store fashion of the average listener all but preclude them from ever getting near a girl.

On Oct. 6, Cat's Cradle hosted an even more confusing combination ­ melodic screams.

Rising Maryland hardcore stars Thrice played a 45-minute set that was an interesting study in contrasts. Backed by the alternating crunchy and clean classic speed-metal riffs of guitarist Teppei Teranishi, vocalist and rhythm guitarist Dustin Kensrue's hollow tenor oscillated between cotton-candy-sweet emo melodies and enraged hardcore barks. Thrice's sound was so schizophrenic and genre-bending that is was easy to see why they named their first album Identity Crisis (Sub City, 2001).

Although their stage presence was somewhat hampered by the focus their intricately layered sound requires of all four members, Thrice managed to work up an excitement that exceeded what one would expect from guys standing at microphones playing guitars. While playing a balanced selection of songs from Identity Crisis and sophomore effort The Illusion of Safety (Sub City, 2002) the band continually increased the energy up until their closing songs, including the uncharacteristically soft three-part harmonies of "Phoenix Ignition."

The near-capacity crowd followed Kensrue's every syllable and received the set with surprisingly few sneers and mutterings of, "Oh, that is so derivative," ­ standard for an elitist indie crowd.

Following Thrice was the perennial fan-favorite of post-hardcore, Gainesville, Fla.'s Hot Water Music. The crowd initially seemed disinterested in the prolific quartet's set, but by the third song, the title track from 2001's A Flight and a Crash (Epitaph) with its blazing guitar work and impassioned screams from vocalists/guitarists Chuck Ragan and Chris Wollard, the entire club's attention was focused on the band.

Their hourlong set included such favorites as "Free Radio Gainesville," driven by a tricky lick on the bass of the steady, awe-inspiring Jason Black, and the jazzy punk of "Swinger."

The kinetic, bearded Ragan, yelling into his microphone like an Amish man with a maniacal grudge against modern civilization, successfully played as a foil to Wollard's straightforward singing/screaming and strumming. With Black jumping around while laying down some of hardcore's most complicated bass lines, the band was a white-hot ball of visceral emotion that made Thrice's relatively energetic set look like it had been stolen from Lawrence Welk. Hot Water Music's show steadily built to its high in "Turnstile" from their breakthrough album Fuel for the Hate Game (No Idea, 1999).

Despite the relative sonic homogeneity of the songs and the failure to include favorites such as "Just Don't Say You Lost It," the crowd seemed to really enjoy the set, especially tracks like "Trusty Chords" from the new album Caution (Epitaph, 2002).