On Tuesday night, the three sweaty members of the Thermals ripped through almost two dozen songs in under an hour for an energetic (and equally sweaty) crowd at the Middle East. That kind of bare-bones efficiency makes it tough to avoid comparisons to the Ramones — but, in truth, the only thing missing was DeeDee’s signature “onetwothreefo’!” cry before each blithe little burst of noise.

The Portland natives adhere closely to the Punk Rock Commandments, handed down from thunderous Titans like the Stooges, Television and Black Flag; i.e. “Thou shalt write fast songs, play them faster and tour constantly.”

It is no surprise, then, that the Thermals have only five songs that are longer than 180 seconds and the production cost of their first record, More Parts Per Million, totaled a whopping $60.

Last night’s performance was no exception to the Thermals’ dogged DIY ethic. Dressed up for “All Hallows’ Eve Eve” as Hunter S. Thompson, lead singer/guitarist, Hutch Harris, led his band mates through a hyperkinetic string of four-chord explosions.

From behind oversized aviators and donning a flannel shirt, he joked, “I feel like a hybrid of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and Brokeback Mountain.”

The set list cut across the band’s entire discography, from “A Pillar of Salt,” its latest single, to “It’s Trivia.” The latter garnered the band some attention in early 2006 when it publicly shot down a $50,000 offer from Hummer to feature the song in an advertisement. Again, the anti-corporate rock gods of yore smile on the Thermals.

The band played its entire new album (minus one), and added a cover of Built to Spill’s “Big Dipper” during the encore.

However, the Thermals faced a few minor challenges last night. Attendance was relatively low and the stage swallowed the band with only its sparse equipment (a drum set and two amps). Never to be discouraged, the band decorated the stage with dollar-store orange streamers and Halloween cardboard cutouts.

More importantly, it played each song with full-blown, over-caffeinated gusto. This is not surprising, because Harris works in an independent coffee shop in Portland when not recording or touring.

As Harris shot around the stage, at times rolling on the ground, it became obvious: Despite his mock-bratty, sneering vocals, the crowd was watching an incredibly sincere musician. Sure, he likes to hold his guitar vertically while he barks his neo-Orwellian lyrics, but his candor is undeniable.

Three-fourths of the Ramones are dead and gone. Try as we might, nobody can bring back those pale, lanky brutes (or the beloved and now defunct CBGB). But fear not — their shoes fit the Thermals well.