There were about 30 people at the Muddy River by the time I arrived to check out “The Spark,” a weekly event booked by Mike “Sparky” Phillips. Before the music started, I watched as two  members from Boston’s The Westward Trail leaned over their tuners, their matching red and green epiphone hollow body guitars slung over their shoulders. I figured the rest of the band were grabbing a drink. Electronic buzzes, pops and snaps emanated from the tall black speaker stacks that framed the stage almost all the way up to the club’s low tin ceilings. Then the two players turned their faces into the red and blue stage lights that illuminated their microphones as synthesizer bass notes thumped along with a drum machine. “Oh! This is the band!” I realized. What followed was an energetic set full of mostly melodic, well-put-together songs that sounded much like New Order and Depeche Mode’s 1980s stuff. Their catchy pop number called “Circle of Bone” got more than a few feet tapping. Guitarists/singers Jake Dempsey and Joe Warwzyn harmonize well together, and almost all of their songs showcased their excellent guitar and vocal interplay. As I looked around the room during the set, everybody was watching The Westward Trail do their thing.

The crowd had grown to about 50 people by the time Harris, another Boston band, took the stage. Lead singer and Hofner-bass player Mike Nastri strolled up to the microphone to greet the audience, which included a small gaggle of girls who were clearly fans who had traveled from other parts to catch the show. Harris came out rocking with an explosion of guitars and a driving beat from drummer Rob Lynch. The scholarly looking and bespectacled Jon Day and the bearded, tight T-shirted Matt Scott flailed in rock-induced seizures on opposite sides of the stage, leaning their guitar headstocks into their amps to coax feedback. Tucked in the back of the stage, Jim Reed provided tasteful keyboard parts throughout the quirky, rocking, pop set. All of the songs had interesting arrangements, but the best song was “Carousel,” an instantly likeable tune, the kind that makes you feel like you can sing along to the chorus even though you don’t know the words. I looked over at the gaggle of fan-girls and they did know the words, their ponytails swaying as they nodded their heads to the beat and sang. Harris just sold out Boston’s Middle East recently, and I think they could find a crowd in Po-town.

By the time Tiny Whales hit the stage around 11 p.m., it was clear who everyone was there to see. The former no man’s land of the dance floor was filled with almost the entire house, save a few stragglers nursing drinks at their tables. Suddenly the show felt like a basement house party. Tiny Whales was relaxed and the crowd was clearly familiar with the band members—each called out good-natured insults and the like in between songs (many at the affable Sparky). Alex Tuley, the band’s imposing female front woman and bass player, was driving the bus. Her tattoos, dark black mop of straight-banged hair, and a studded belt all said one word: rock. Drummer Matty Maybruck’s cheeks shone with sweat as he pounded away through a 45-minute set of edgy, indie and new wave-influenced songs. Sean Ferral, the band’s red haired guitarist, banged out some chunky chords (almost metal in fact) over the synth intro as the second song of the set, “Alright, Alright” began. The beat, reminicent of The Killers’ “Mr. Brightside,” compelled the audience to push up to the stage, their heads silhouetted against the red and blue stage lights and cigarette smoke. By the time the song’s big, cymbal washy, half-time chorus came around, most of the heads in the room were nodding to the beat. Tuley and keyboardist Ryan Kirchner screamed in unison into their microphones, “Don’t think! / That we’re! / Allright! / Allright!”  Everyone was clearly up for rocking, and Tiny Whales didn’t disappoint.

“Tuesday” isn’t usually a word that inspires a “let’s go see what’s going on” kind of feeling, but if this week was any indication, “The Spark” offers nights of better-than-average bands playing the kind of music you wouldn’t expect to see in Portsmouth, the likes of which we haven’t seen around these parts since we had—wait for it—the Elvis Room. And any day is a good day for rock, no?