Hamilton's Corktown Tavern is enjoying a renaissance of sorts. Located just off the tracks and scurried away in one of the downtown core's more darker corners, the Corktown, once a prominent fixture for music, spent the last few years battling a somewhat harried reputation. That is all about to change.

A new stage, a couple coats of paint and some good old-fashioned elbow grease are turning this non-descript watering hole back into a rock house. Starting, oh, now.

Friday's night line-up is the first in a series of bookings manager Lou Molinaro hopes will give the Hamilton scene a jolt of adrenaline. Tactfully meshing Hamilton's contingent with what is probably one of the biggest names in Toronto, probably didn't hurt either.

First up on the four-band bill, punk-rock love stallions The Downbelows were the first to put their moves on the Corktown audience. Laying down some steady rock, the Toronto quartet were understatedly melodic, firing off song after song on their Hamilton reconnaissance. A comfortable blend of classic call and response, most excellent guitar solos, and stocky rhythms rounded out The Downbelows quasi-billy surfpunk sound and got the evening off to energetic start and ushered in a new era that echoed the safety pins, leather jackets, and attitude of 1970's New York.

Checking out Trixie's - the Corktown's on-site kitchen - between bands is a good idea for more than just munchies. A bevy of hearty appetisers are served up by a pair of lovely ladies who work the deep fryer in PVC and high heel boots - proving a dish of chilli isn't the only spicy thing this kitchen has to offer. To die for? The sweet potato French-fries with wasabi mayonnaise.

Five guys in five different bands on the same stage about sums up Sectorseven. More metal than punk, and more mediocre than good, the Grimsby band on the Sonic Unyon label played an incongruent mesh of thrash, grunge and groove funk that didn't go anywhere except suckville. Accentuated by what could only be described as an angry Phil Collins on drums screaming his head off, Sectorseven's songs were indistinguishable from each other and almost painful to watch. Each member, when not blathering away between songs, redefined the spirit of hard core by rocking out in their Dockers and cardigans. Note to band - stage clothes, it's a good idea. Try it some time.

Sectorseven, shooed away and scuttled out the back door, left the stage wide open for the Poisoned Aeros to blow everyone else off of. Hamilton's most talked about rock band, the Aeros wasted no time packing the front of house to a sardine-like consistency. After all, they did set the stage on fire.

Without a doubt, this is a band with balls of steel. Blessed by a relatively flawless mix, ample stage theatrics and good songs (remember those?), The Poisoned Aeros proceeded to rock the Corktown to its foundations. Visually stunning, the audience was whipped into submission and held captive by Buckshot Bebee's honest belting of the Aero's blues-tinged set. That or the skintight pants.

Robin Black has had a tough year. Replacing two band members, making a go overseas and, oh yeah, recording a new album has to take its toll on a guy. So does he still have it?

The answer is yes - and no. A precursor to their CMW gig in Toronto next week, the Intergalactic Rock Stars could not easily cakewalk over a surly Hamilton audience. And it showed.

If before Robin Black was a psychic seer shaping his vision to minute changes in the universal musical fabric, now he is a man in need of some glasses. Replacing the whole rhythm section in most bands usually makes as dramatic a difference as changing guitar strings. However, in such an image driven band such as the IRS, it can mean everything.

While the new members competent, they lacked in the stage show department - an area Mr. Black has built his whole reputation around. Pursued by a troublesome mix - the engineer obviously skipped class the day they went over not upstaging the frontman - the IRS did their damnedest, but just didn't have it this night. Mix a few overzealous drunkards to the incessant feedback and lacklustre enthusiasm of certain bandmates it and it was the most intimate show that was never meant to be so personal.

Nonetheless, Robin Black and his crew tore through some of the old catalogue admidst what looks to be the solidification of songs on their follow-up to Planet:Fame. Not bad, but not the sensation his shows usually are.

Taking the reins of a club is never easy to do. A good crowd and a good line-up, though, will almost certainly help to ease the transition from derelict to debaucherous. If Friday night's show set the pace of things to come for the Corktown, it looks like Hamiltonians have a lot of beer money to save up.