Friday 30
BARBEZ Anybody can piddle around with themes of romance and sex, but these New Yorkers are past all that–in fact there aren’t any other humans at all on their beautiful and desolate planet. Each melancholy melody or obsessive ostinato seems to belong to its own dimension, and the group’s third album, Insignificance (Important), sounds like it just happened to capture the whole lineup–which includes Pamelia Kurstin on theremin, Dan Coates on modified Palm Pilot, and Danny Tunick on vibes and marimba–at the one point in all of space and time where they intersected perfectly. Tunick tucks his whimsical, hallucinatory lines into Ksenia Vidyaykina’s velvety Slavic voice and Kurstin’s lost-at-sea theremin, and pointy-toothed guitar nibbles at everyone’s legs. Occasionally they’ll all burst into an inappropriately ecstatic pop melody, which feels really uncomfortable, like when daddy took you out for ice cream after you saw him hit mommy. It’s a sound track for getting lost in a cold mossy forest after dark, daring yourself to open the flap of the bearded lady’s tent, or quietly bleeding to death in the bathtub. Spires That in the Sunset Rise headline and Sapat opens. 10 PM, Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western, 773-276-3600 or 866-468-3401, $8. –Liz Armstrong
Best of Chicago voting is live now. Vote for your favorites »
LUCINDA WILLIAMS For obvious reasons, perfectionists like Lucinda Williams tend to shy away from live albums. But after accelerating her recording pace in recent years, she loosened up enough to release Live @ the Fillmore (Lost Highway). The guitar licks still cleanly fall into their proper places, but the demands of performing onstage seem to sharpen Williams’s upper register; lacking the ability to rework her slur until it teeters on the verge of affectation, she instead flays her vowels till they bristle with unguarded lust. C.C. Adcock opens. 8 PM, the Vic, 3145 N. Sheffield, 773-472-0449 or 312-559-1212, sold out, 18+. –Keith Harris
MOLOTOV This hip-hop/hard-rock foursome may be Mexico’s dumbest band, but they’ve never pretended to be anything other than a bunch of mooks. The recent Con todo respeto (Surco/Universal Music Latin), a covers collection, does nothing to improve their image, but it does provide a few minor yuks. The Misfits classic “I Turned Into a Martian” is transformed into a cumbia called “Marciano,” while the early Beastie Boys rant “Girls” becomes the relentlessly stoopid hard rocker “Chavas.” The band also fiddles with Trio’s “Da Da Da,” melts down El Tri’s “Perro negro y callejero” with ZZ Top’s “La Grange,” and raps its way through Vico C’s “Mi abuela” over the bass line from the Clash’s “The Magnificent Seven.” 7:30 PM, House of Blues, 329 N. Dearborn, 312-923-2000 or 312-559-1212, $32.50-$35. All ages. –Peter Margasak
FLESHTONES With a career spanning nearly 30 years, New York’s Fleshtones dispel the notion that playing garage rock is just a phase kids go through. On Beachhead (Yep Roc), their 13th studio album, the Fleshtones bash away with spastic glee, with blasts of harmonica and sax spurting up out of their fiercely hooky songs. Younger bands may have surpassed them in loudness and weirdness, but these vets have got the kind of playful assurance that sounds like experience kicking the ass of innocence. Radical, never; satisfying, always. The Havox and CoCoComa open. 9:30 PM, Empty Bottle, 1035 N. Western, 773-276-3600 or 866-468-3401, $8 in advance, $10 at the door. –Monica Kendrick
