North Central College’s barely-3-year-old venue simply named the Recreation Center/Residence Hall (picture a really big high-school gym) hosted its first concert ever on Sunday night, when San Diego’s Switchfoot came to Naperville. The 90-minute setlist was curiously devoid of any songs from the band’s first three albums, and instead included tracks from their last five releases, most of them off the quintet’s breakout The Beautiful Letdown and 2011’s Vice Verses.

Frontman Jon Foreman, with his brother/bassist/co-vocalist Tim at his side, once again proved that very little manipulation is done with this band in the studio, especially vocally. The Foremans are still able to confidently nail everything from the raucuous anthems to the tender ballads, all in their signature raspy style. Jon was also very comfortable relating to the college-and-younger crowd, finding the right balance of helping them feel like he truly engaged them, without every getting preachy or long-winded. At one point he did more than interact verbally with the audience, as he ventured deep into the crowd, almost to the back row, just walking on chairs and giving high-fives — all the while belting the chorus to the recent hit “Restless” (“I am restless; I’m searching for you”).

Switchfoot started in 1997 as an outright “Christian rock” act, signing with a Christian label. By their fourth release, a major-label deal with Columbia struck crossover success via a number of Top-40 hits. They strive for this crossover success to retain a positive, spiritual vibe, and this came through at the show. Foreman introduced nearly every song as being meant to offer an inspiring message (from “Your Love Is A Song” to “Meant To Live” to “Dare You To Move” to “Afterlife”). And the three small video screens weren’t used to show anything too edgy, but provided a strong-yet-simple support for the live music in the smaller venue.

The band’s biggest mistake may have been in choosing a too many ballads, and never attempting more than two upbeat rockers in a row and preventing the crowd from fully letting loose. One of Switchfoot’s biggest hits, “The Sound” (featured in various NFL commercials, etc.) was the perfect choice for the closer, and did lead to both the band and the audience showing some serious energy — of which there could have been more.

– Carter Moss

If Bobby Conn were as big as Oprah, the national association of mac-and-cheese producers would be lining up to fight him. His home release show is Friday, as are the first TopGolf “Let’s Play” party, ALO, and Haley Reinhart’s post-”Idol” blitz.

On Macaroni, Bobby Conn’s Fire Records debut, he builds on his cannonade from 2004’s The Homeland with a broadside on American culture. The title track uses the cheesy comfort food as a metaphor for deep-rooted complacency, and he later laughs that love of war is our real reason for overseas military excursions — gas-guzzlers are just a happy byproduct. Despite his alien-of-the-art-world mystique, Conn’s music has always suggested a T. Rex disciple who just happens to make sense. (Marc Bolan often did not.) Macaroni is no different, a futuro metal-funk-electro hybrid that pulls from equal parts Zappa, Prince, Parliament, and 808. (Friday@Empty Bottle with Cave and Starring.)

If you snowmobile on an opposite pole from Conn, you might find yourself at TopGolf this weekend, for the musical launch of this summer’s “Let’s Play!” campaign that ends August 31st. “Patiopalooza” Fridays start with Covergurl, who’ll be teed up by a full raft of food, drinks, and putting greens where you might find yourself more relaxed than usual. (Friday@TopGolf in Wood Dale.)

Despite a name that’s an acronym for Animal Liberation Orchestra, ALO’s strong affiliation with environmental activist Jack Johnson seems more to be with Johnson’s taste for beach music. Sounds Like This (Brushfire) really belongs in Chicago in the half of the year when it isn’t so pleasant outside, filled with genteel lapping beats, coastal warmth, and a nymphomaniac’s lust for good times in the past. (Friday@Martyrs’ with Chris Kasper and Infantree.)

This weekend also marks the homecoming of Wheeling’s Haley Reinhart, the “American Idol” finalist whose Interscope debut, Listen Up!, came out Tuesday. She’ll be signing autographs at her neighborhood WalMart and then performing a free concert at the Hard Rock Cafe downtown. (Saturday@Hard Rock Cafe.)

That schoolchildren aren’t mandated to learn cursive has the irrational class believing that the art of letter-writing will disappear with it. Keeping faint hopes alive, PS I Love You are in town, as are Shovels & Rope.

Much like Titus Andronicus a couple years ago, PS I Love You’s Death Dreams (Paper Bag) manages some blistering indie rock that nevertheless evokes summer. The difference is Paul Saulnier’s swooning vocals, which make Brian Ferry sound like Lemmy. Of course, that’s when you can hear him. The deafening whirr of Saulnier’s guitars and Benjamin Nelson’s multi-car pile-up of a drum technique returns from last year’s Meet Me At The Muster Station. With a performance this intense, the best you can hope for is some subtle changes in shading, and PS I Love You have refined themselves to accomodate just that. (Wednesday@Schubas with Army Girls and Cuff The Duke.)

If we can’t have a full round of sloppy-drunk Hayes Carll and Cary Ann Hearst duets like “Another Like You,” a complementary pairing of Hearst and Michael Trent will have to suffice. Calling themselves Shovels & Rope, the two give a spirited homage to the days of Loretta & Conway or Dolly & Porter while circling that country legacy with a jug of gasoline. O’ Be Joyful (Dualtone) is consistently harder than most country rock (think Pistol Annies meets The White Stripes), but the key to surviving the album’s gritty (not faux-authentic) slapback tone are changeups like “Lay Low” and closer “This Means War.” (Friday@Subterranean with The Kernal and Robert McShane.)

– Steve Forstneger

So many incarnations of The Beach Boys have hit the road over the years, that it’s often tricky to keep track of who’s in the band. But considering 2012 marks the 50th anniversary of summer’s supreme act, surviving co-founders Brian Wilson, Mike Love, and Al Jardine, alongside veterans Bruce Johnston and David Marks, traded acrimony for harmony long enough to hit the studio and launch a world tour.

The June 5th release of That’s Why God Made The Radio (Capitol) marks the band’s first album of entirely original material since 1992, and given the wealth of material from both yesterday and today, it was no surprise the group delivered a generous, more than 40-song set during the first of two packed Chicago Theatre shows. In addition of all the major hits, the Boys (now well into manhood in their 60s and 70s) also dusted off several deeper album cuts and a new tune, truly honoring the tour’s anniversary premise.

“Do It Again” served as a fitting start, not only because of the night’s reunion nature, but also due to harmony-heavy pleasantries that found the five sounding not entirely perfect, but still generally spry. Of course, having a younger 10-piece band do some of the heavier instrumental lifting and supplement the higher notes didn’t hurt, but the elders had no trouble keeping up with the spunk of “Surfin’ Safari” or nailing the gentle sweetness of “Surfer Girl.”

As has been the group’s tradition, Love took many of the leads, sounding especially confident throughout the carefree “When I Grow Up (To Be A Man),” “Be True To Your School,” and “Little Deuce Coupe,” though he also shared the spotlight with his cousin Wilson on a handful of occasions. The former St. Charles resident may have looked sheepish, if not entirely oblivious, behind his piano (and like a scene from Weekend At Bernie’s on the bass during the encore), but sounded vocally capable throughout the ambitious Pet Sounds suite “Sloop John B,” that same album’s bittersweet ballad “I Just Wasn’t Made For These Times,” and the Smile-bred “Heroes And Villains.”

Outside of his nimble guitar duties, Jardine jovially crooned his way through “Help Me, Rhonda,” while Johnston also packed plenty of vocal chops, despite detouring with “Disney Girls” (second only in corny comparison to “Kokomo”). Even dearly departed members Dennis and Carl Wilson popped up on video screens to deliver their previously recorded parts of “Forever” and “God Only Knows,” respectively, as the present players added their signature backing vocals.

The new but simultaneously nostalgic-sounding single “That’s Why God Made The Radio” also made it apparent The Beach Boys still have a knack for crafting melodic masterpieces reminiscent of Pet Sounds‘ pop sensibility crossed with the regarded (albeit less successful) Sunflower’s tedious craftsmanship. As the night reached its apex, the highlight reel of oldies but goodies like “Good Vibrations,” “California Girls,” “Do You Wanna Dance?,” and “Fun, Fun Fun” sounded just as sweet as ever, which, coupled with the earlier favorites and rarities, made for an exhaustively comprehensive celebration of America’s ultimate band.

– Andy Argyrakis

Sic The Polyphonic Spree on those rambunctious NATO protestors and the need for a mile-long line of police officers outfitted in riot gear would disappear. One look at Tim DeLaughter and his band of merry pranksters would either send the chanting mass exercising their First Amendment rights running off in fear or persuade them to join the feel-good circus.

Blame it on the collective’s cult-like uniforms (on this go-around, the mini orchestra sports white floor-length robes emblazoned with cut-out hearts like a second-grader’s Valentine’s Day project) or their ebullient performance style. Whether encountering the rotating lineup in the street or within the intimate quarters of a concert venue, DeLaughter’s crew casts a spell difficult to shake.

After three albums, one long hiatus, and an abridged lineup, the magic doesn’t spring forth with the white-hot intensity of past outings in the early ’00s, but still wields a mighty power. For once, breathing room wasn’t in short supply with only 14 noise-makers on stage at Park West. The mishmash of instruments remained intact (punk-rock cellist, church bell-hammering percussionists, brass line three-men deep), yet the incredible shrinking all-girl chorus proved the most significant change in both sight and sound. The unified singing and hair whipping used to dwarf DeLaughter’s son-of-a-preacher-man stance. Now, the ladies stand in back, and try to rise above the din.

Not that the Spree wasn’t always DeLaughter’s show. He’s ever the mad scientist at the helm, transforming a jaded club into a revivalman’s tent. He fidgets. He twirls. He weaves through the band like a wayward stream of smoke. He juts out his arms like a demented conductor. And yet, he somehow manages to squeeze in a few bars of kaleidoscopic lyrics and wills them a deeper meaning. Every action is thought out — from opening the set behind a scarlet sheet to revealing the group a few inches at a time by cutting out an ever-expanding heart-shaped hole, to closing with “The Championship” and methodically commanding each member’s exit with a tap on the shoulder. The exercise gave a backwards lesson on sound layering, and a tutorial on how to execute an unforgettable finish.

The Spree parties with the conviction of a roving Hare Krishna sect, and the commercialism of mass-marketed holidays. It brought a little New Year’s Eve flair to this 90-minute jaunt by deploying confetti cannons on three separate occasions. A cover of The Who’s “Pinball Wizard” fit squarely within the band’s psychedelic bent, while a new tune, “What Would You Do?,” shunned fragmented thought in exchange for burning questions to a pogoing beat.

– Janine Schaults

Gridlock downtown! Restrictions on commuter trains! Riot gear! (Thanks to considerate Loop employers, less traffic on Foster this morning.) Only Jennifer Herrema, ex-Royal Trux, would do a show this weekend! Ane Brun waits a day or two.

Notice I didn’t mention the Cubs/Sox series in the list of bedlam, as absolutely no one cares anymore. After squeezing all she could out of Royal Trux and RTX, you could imagine Herrema wouldn’t care more for guitar music, but the new album by her RTX reboot, Black Bananas, pretty consistently debunks that notion. Rad Times Xpress IV orgiastically extols its love for six-strings, in a surprisingly danceable melange of saxy Bowie, T. Rex glitter, Ernie Isley space funk, and — on “Earthquake” at least — James T. Kirk. The name Black Bananas is clearly a metaphor: what looks like spoiled fruit is actually treasured by pastrymakers for its intense flavor (and easily mashable texture). (Sunday@Lincoln Hall with Kurt Vile & The Violators and True Widow.)

Ane Brun’s missing an opportunity by playing here the day after the NATO convention ends, as the mantra-like repetition of her album’s title, It All Starts With One, on the same effort’s “The Light From One” would be a magically positive protest anthem. (It sure beats marching through Bridgeport chanting, “Fuck the police.”) Occasionally, Brun sounds too delicate to withstand the hot air that will be blowing from all sides this weekend, though the Norwegian has a backbone of dignity in her work that keeps it grounded as wispier elements threaten to take flight. (Tuesday@Lincoln Hall with Gemma Ray.)

– Steve Forstneger

As with any genre, many aren’t shy about their opinions of what country music should be. Admittedly, we’re glad it’s not all about heartache and crops drying up and tears in beer: Jason Boland & The Stragglers, however, like to keep things serious. Also in town: Rocky Votolato and Here We Go Magic.

But what makes Rancho Alto an unqualified success is its refusal to preach and that it doesn’t make concessions to recording methods that fabricate grit. In that sense, Jason Boland & The Stragglers are almost better than Drive-By Truckers in selling tales of scraping out a living, moral gray areas, and brutal luck. “Down Here In The Hole” depicts a suck-ass job where you never see the sun; a poisonous relationship becomes routine in “Obsessed”; and, in the harrowing “False Accuser’s Lament,” a poor farmer agrees to go along with the prosecution’s story only to see the gallows every night in his sleep. The Stragglers never over-dramatize Boland’s vignettes, hewing closely to traditional country templates and letting the direct words do the work. (Friday@Joe’s with Chris Knight.)

Rocky Votolato’s Television Of Saints (Undertow) grows into a family affair, though his unshakable romantic issues remain solely his. Presented in relatively unadorned singer/songwriter tones, Votolato’s problems get reflected back at him in the dreariest details of modern life: stoplights, dead leaves, brick houses along the highway, a perpetually powered TV, etc. The pain of divorce paralyzes “Start Over,” while in “Sunlight” he edges over the lines of mental collapse. In short, Votolato and Boland need to go bowling. (Thursday@Schubas with Kevin Long.)

No established artist says, “I’ve never heard of this producer or anything they’ve done, but I’ll hire them anyway.” It’s certain that Luke Temple liked something Nigel Godrich did (probably for Radiohead) before approaching him to helm Here We Go Magic’s A Different Ship (Secretly Canadian), the trick was to not give fans or critics incentive to believe that it was because he wanted to sound like one of Godrich’s clients. Mission failed on “Alone But Moving,” where Temple’s cracking falsetto recalls a certain you-know-who. What’s funny, however, is how nothing you’d credit to Godrich sounds identical to Radiohead. Here We Go Magic move somewhat antiseptically (or unassertively) through the album, preferring gauzy textures and insularity as if they couldn’t have gotten there on their own. (Thursday@Empty Bottle with Dolphins.)

– Steve Forstneger

When Eric Church, sporting his trademark sunglasses finally evolved onto the stage at 9:32 on Friday night, engoulphed in a thick cloud of smoke, there was a feeling of the unknown.

Today’s big arena concerts are packed with video screens, flashy stages, and lots of razzle dazzle. Church is an old-school beer-keg-on-the-stage, smoke, some flashing lights, and fireworks kind of guy. With his liquid friend Jack Daniel’s (in the red Solo cup) hanging close by on the mic stand (94 proof, single barrel, and custom labeled for him), he proceeded to crank through 21 songs taking the packed Sears Centre crowd on a well-scripted musical rollercoaster.

He ripped through six songs before getting back to the theme of the night with “I’m Gettin’ Stoned,” and then “Jack Daniel’s” declaring “Tonight I’m drinking Jack Daniel’s/and don’t give a shit.” He’s an emotional, passion-filled singer who is relatable with his jumping around, fist-pumping, and chest-pounding to make his points. (No choreographed dance moves here.)

He stripped it down for a three-song acoustic set banging out “Two Pink Lines,” “Sinners Like Me,” and “Love Your Love The Most.” With the band back on stage and rested, he went right into chart topper “Drink In My Hand” and begged the crowd to “Give me everything you got!” He finished the main event with “Homeboy,” signed his bottle of JD for a fan, and left the same way he entered.

All this was, of course a tease for The Encore. Church has the summer anthem that has not only topped the country charts but is climbing the Rolling Stone Top 40, too. Before the much anticipated “Springsteen,” he led with “Smoke A Little Smoke” and “These Boots.” With his guitar slung over his shoulder, he pounded the ivories in an ode to The Boss, and his iconic Born In The USA album.” “This is where melodies and memories connect,” he said, telling a story about a girl who’s name can can’t remember but thinks of her every time he hears that (track one, side one) song. There were only a few lighters in the house, but the illuminated cell phones rocking back and forth should be made into his next video. Almost as if he didn’t want to leave, it turned into an eight-minute sing-along that put the finishing touch on a entertaining night.

Hard-pounding rednecks Blackberry Smoke provided some background for getting that first beer and concert T-shirt bought. Brantley Gilbert revved-up the late-arriving crowd with an eight-song set that included his hits “County Must Be Country Wide” and “You Don’t Know Her Like I Do.” He may not be this year’s headliner, but with a few more songs and his deep crooners voice, he may be in Church’s spot next.

– Brian Ormiston

Anime had its Big O; well-traveled singer/songwriters look to Alejandro Escovedo and Damien Jurado. That, and more tenuously tangential links in our roundup for the 16th, also including Hope For Agoldensummer, The Royalty, and We Are Serenades.

How strange is it that Alejandro Escovedo was once in a side-project rock band called Buick MacKane and has now thrice worked with producer Tony Visconti? As things stand, Big Station (Fantasy) sounds no more like T. Rex than anything else in the 61-year-old’s catalog. But Escovedo and Visconti have come up with what amounts to a “hit” album for the San Antonian, in so far as it sounds like a compilation of all his best work. Perhaps that’s owed again to the collaboration of co-writer Chuck Prophet, who himself is on a roll as far as distilling Americana rock into something a little less wearying than your boilerplate No Depression stars. Opener “Man Of The World” might not quite be the Fleetwood Mac song, but its pumping swagger gives that version a run for its money. (Wednesday@Uptown’s Playlist Theater in LaSalle with Jesse Malin.)

One day, a rather stunning compilation will be made of Damien Jurado’s best, and in a perfect world it would place him alongside the likes of John Prine in the history books. Maraqopa (Secretly Canadian), however, will not be rocketing toward the top of the pops soon. A deep, yet somewhat quixotically mixed album, Jurado usually pushes the bulk of his imagination into his characters but really lets fly with the arrangements here. Opener “Nothing Is The News” opens with the muddled rumble of old guitar strings, but soon launches itself into Haight-Asbury psychedelic rock. “Life Away From The Garden” casts a creepy children’s choir, and the LSD returns for the reverbed lope of “This Time Next Year.” Though his fragile tenor reminds you whose album this is, it’s easy to forget what you began listening for, until words like “Don’t let go/I need you to hang around/I am so broke/and Foolishly in love” remind you that not all’s in the scenery. (Wednesday@Schubas with JBM.)

Harmonizing sisters aren’t trendy — they’re a gift. So yes, Claire and Page Campbell intertwine as effortlessly as the Watson Twins or Wilsons, but they don’t prefer a lung-emptying showcase or even something that would wake Azure Ray from a slumber. Instead, Hope For Agoldensummer use Life Inside The Body to make subtle and even aching gestures, many of which recall the vulnerable, half-wakefulness of Rebecca Gates. It can be somnambulant and deliberate, for sure, but it’s never typical. (Wednesday@Uncommon Ground Devon with Andru Bemis.)

It can be a wonderful thing to have a versatile pop band. While Victory Records has gone overboard with The Royalty by comparing them to everyone from Adele to Blondie to Sleigh Bells, the label’s clearly excited by its prospects. On Lovers, Nicole Boudreau stars in an almost Gwen Stefani-like way, one that flirts with debasing her bandmates’ contributions. But The Royalty are up to creating a multitude of pop scenarios for her, whether Spector-esque pop, ska-lite, or electro-pop delight. (Wednesday@Beat Kitchen with Nature Show, Placeholder, and Eiffel Tower.)

The jump from Shout Out Louds to We Are Serenades is deliberate if not literal. The delicate, Swedish power-poppers might actually only be half SOLs — frontman Adam Olenius — but their raison d’etre is fully encompassed by his band’s “Impossible” and its precious intent to never compromise happiness. What keeps Criminal Heaven from being an irrepressible ode to blind youth is its pacing, a cryptic concession to acquiescence that is obscured in the interest of keeping the good times going for as long as possible. (Wednesday@Empty Bottle with Northpilot and Dozens.)

– Steve Forstneger

You have a big weekend: after Maps & Atlases finish their hometown release party at Metro, wake up, brush teeth, and get in line to be first for The Right Now’s. Also: Sheffield’s Water For Ale, Father John Misty, Chicha Libre, and Royal Canoe.

A problem with the soul-revue revival is the aggressively retro stance of its participants. Not limited to dress, a huge portion of the songs seize on peak-period Stax and Muscle Shoals-type arrangements complete with analog pops and snaps. Chicago-based The Right Now share complicity in some of these tropes, but at least the new Gets Over You doesn’t doll itself up like Dick Clark will come knocking any moment. With a name like Stefanie Berecz, the band’s frontwoman does well to keep from donning blackface and mimicking any of the era’s iconic vocalists. Her pipes’ Midwestern modesty is a microcosm for a band trying to find their own way with the genre’s well-worn templates — case in point is “Call Girl,” which loses the tie, undoes two or three buttons, and heads out under the disco ball. To the alternate future! (Saturday@Lincoln Hall with Derobert & The Half Truths.)

If you’ve watched the craft beer section of your local Jewel or Dominick’s explode from Leinenkugel’s and Honey Brown to bombers of Hop Stoopid and Flossmoor Station, you’re no doubt impressed. You might also be wondering, if there’s this much specialty brew to go around, where are we getting all the water? And how much longer until the Southwest is completely tapped out (giving teetotalers a new look at the term “going dry”)? Sheffield’s — long one of the only places in Wrigleyville that served decent beer — announces the first S.W.A.P. (Sheffield’s Water From Ale Project) for this weekend, during which it’ll donate a dime from every draft poured off its 50 taps to organizations including Friends Of The Chicago River, and Council Of The Great Lake Governors, and Water.org, while working with brewers to match what it gives. Admission is free for an all-you-can-eat fish fry, a Two Brothers “Tap Takeover,” and bluegrass! (Saturday@Sheffield’s with Chico & James.)

In 2007, Barbes Records released Roots Of Chicha: Psychedelic Cumbias From Peru, a stunning compilation of South American songs from the ’60s that collided with psychedelic rock. The astonishing and ostensibly sad thing about it, is that the musicians didn’t seem to be playing this great music for anyone but themselves and the chances of hearing it again were limited to this release. Not necessarily so: Chicha Libre arrive this week, and this year’s Canibalismo (on the same label no less), recreates the style with a modern flair. In place of dirt-floor, barrio charm comes a cleaner representation that has its own benefits: particularly bringing out elements poorly recorded in the past. (Saturday@Old Town School Of Folk Music.)

The harmonies on Fear Fun pull the curtain back on the fact that J. Tillman daylights in Fleet Foxes, a connection that no doubt encouraged Sub Pop to give a big-label shot to the wandering, shamanistic singer/songwriter. Its hunch pays off on his debut as Father John Misty, which updates the Devendra Banhart hippie mystique to fashionably include the PacNW, L.A. hotels, and a hint of Sweetheart-era Byrds. (Saturday@Schubas with Har Mar Superstar.)

Winnipeg’s Royal Canoe put disproportionate weight on point of view for their Extended Play EP, and that doesn’t include the Vampire Weekend-ish run through the motions of “Caught In A Loop.” From one side, they’re cavalier boundary crossers, melding psychedelic rock, hip-hop, and world pop with abandon, and making summery anthems at each turn. Or, you could say its engaging unpredictability conspicuously opens a pleasant new path, and that “Loop” is more of a signifier of boundaries than a way to fill five minutes. (Sunday@Township with The Mommies.)

– Steve Forstneger

No one really addresses it, but one of the hallmarks of post-millennial hip-hop has been very punk rock: you don’t need a good voice to make an impact. Danny Brown epitomizes this and is in town this week, along with Ty Segall, Stryper, Maps & Atlases, and Plants And Animals

We’ve come a long way from Melle Mel and Kurtis Blow, but even beyond the interjections of Snoop Dogg and Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, the MC ideal has been someone who commands the mic, enunciates, and (most underrated) can spit in relative tune with the music. DMX challenged this in the extreme — as did Busta Rhymes, Ol’ Dirty Bastard, and even Ja Rule — but today it seems atonality or a harmonic indifference has become the way. Lil Wayne and Nicki Minaj operate independent of melodies and beats, while even Kanye West possess a nasally intonation and lack of authority that can make his voice crack when he attempts conviction. In that sense, Danny Brown’s long slog in the underground and prison system was just spent waiting for time to catch up to him. The material on last year’s XXX (Fool’s Gold) breakthrough didn’t just hinge on verses about winters using an oven as a heater or brutally graphic sexual exploits, but how his misfit pipes portrayed a split personality. He almost sounds like he’s battling himself on the final cut, “30″ (the album title refers to explicit content as well as Brown’s age), and creates a tension that transcends fads. (Wednesday@Riviera Theatre with Childish Gambino.)

Speaking of underrated, it’s great how we can talk about Ty Segall’s “old” material but chronologically only need to go back about two years. In a flurry of releases since he was unearthed in the same garage-rock revival that delivered Jay Reatard, Segall declines to stay in place very long. On last year’s Goodbye Bread (Drag City), he tried to divine if things really sounded better slow, and on a collaborative album this spring with opener White Fence he won’t let any structure take its coat off. Hair finds Segall and Tim Presley plotting, scheming . . . doing anything to disrupt whatever strolls they can lull you into. Still working from a customary palette of ’60s guitar bands, they kick out chairs, stick fingers in your back, and turn lights on just as you’ve fallen asleep. (Thursday@Lincoln Hall with White Fence and Strange Boys.)

Everyone knows that the great irony of the Stryper story is that they went platinum despite being assertively evangelical in an overwhelmingly debauched pop-metal world. Less spoken of, the band’s first real taste of success was in a place that couldn’t put less emphasis on religion if it tried: Japan. Take that further, when Stryper began to make their move in the U.S., some of their most vocal critics were highly visible members of the Religious Right. (Though, you could probably wager that sincere Satanists never rated Ozzy Osbourne highly, either.) As vendors of a particularly ridiculed musical style, Stryper may never get much credit for the barriers they demolished. Unfazed, they ended a 14-year hiatus in 2005 and dutifully went back to spreading the word. Of course, the landscape has changed so much that they didn’t take much flak for last year’s The Covering (Big3) — which includes their versions of songs originally recorded by Osbourne, Judas Priest, Kiss, and more — or the distressing artwork on their two post-reunion studio albums. But now that irony’s been brushed aside, there’s nothing left to do but play. (Thursday@Tailgaters in Bolingbrook.)

Whether people respond to it en masse is another thing, but it’s difficult not to have an opinion about Beware And Be Grateful (Barsuk). Maps & Atlases‘ sophomore full-length finds the local band quite a distance from their first EPs, where the proggy touches have morphed into something resembling mid-’80s Peter Gabriel. Part of that’s due to the husk of Dave Davison’s voice, but Beware takes a preponderence of trendy African rhythms and guitar lines and turns them into something American and summery with a production sheen that’s as integral to the album as the songwriting. (Friday@Metro with So Many Dynamos and Sister Crayon.)

The reversion to vinyl hasn’t necessarily coincided with a revived approach to making music specifically for 33s, though the idea defines Plants And Animals‘ The End Of That (Secret City). The first half plops down on the couch, and the Montreal-based band effectively churn out an indie-rock Americana, admitting to “Sittin’ in the sun/blowing smoke/and talking shit with no reasons.” But then the fifth track, “Crisis!,” flips a switch, the amplifiers register their unhappiness, and we get desperate cries like, “We’re running for our lives!” Two sides, one piece. Love it. (Friday@Schubas with Hundred Waters and American Wolf.)

– Steve Forstneger

Personally, we think the “turn of the century” was accomplished by Dale Earnhart back in ‘88, but not many others think of the phrase that way. Tim Eriksen, The Crickle, JD McPherson, and Joel Henderson all transport us to times passed this weekend.

In the case of Tim Eriksen, waaaaay back. A look at the New Englander’s new album title, Banjo, Fiddle And Voice, might suggest he’s some sort of bluegrass peddler, when in fact his influences go back to the Civil War. A master of old shape-note singing (a reason for which he was invited to contribute to the Cold Mountain soundtrack), Eriksen has become an invaluable link to bygone American folk traditions despite his relative youth. We’re still partial to his decade-old rendition of “The Cumberland And The Merrimac,” though Banjo, Fiddle And Voice is filled with never-quaint renditions of some famous tunes, including a version of “Tom Dooley” that makes The Kingston Trio sound like the patterned-shirt/pleated pants outfit they truly were. (Sunday@Uncommon Ground Wrigleyville.)

The assertion that Elvis Presley stole rock ‘n’ roll from black musicians always struck me as odd, because though it’s clear where he got the sound, Presley never sounded especially black. It’s a good think JD McPherson wasn’t around then, because he sounds exactly like Little Richard. Signs And Signifiers (Rounder) might find itself criticized for its contrivances to sound like it was recorded in the ’50s, but those quibbles fade once you start dancing. While his lack of innovation says the music isn’t terribly alive inside him, for a corpse it sure can move. (Friday@Lincoln Hall with Mar Caribe.)

In memory of prolific local musician “Crazy” Tim Rutkowski, Rabid Badger Records began surreptitiously dispersing free copies of Love, A Crazy Compilation – a set that collects Rutkowski’s career work including time with Wilco’s late Jay Bennett, his time in The Eisenhowers with Ike Reilly, in The Crickle with Erich McMann, and more. The compilation will be available this weekend, when The Crickle reunites for the first time in 20 years. (Saturday@Gallery Cabaret.)

Local ex-pat Joel Henderson comes home, and whoops! What’s that on the table? A new album. Locked Doors & Pretty Fences’s title’s two halves are a pair of mini albums on one disc, though thematically they share the same soulful, singer/songwriter principles. Echoes of The Band’s “The Weight” can be startling particularly this week, and it doesn’t help Henderson that the lyrics to his “Heartless Kisses” don’t transfer an equal amount of heft. But as a companion to the instruction manual-less world of divorced and single 40somethings, it works. Henderson’s been intimate enough with life’s stresses that he doesn’t need to relive them for the sake of gravitas. (Sunday@Space with Kim Richey.)

– Steve Forstneger

Fozzy Bear’s favorite band, the Waco Brothers, have produced their long-awaited collaboration with Paul Burch this week and, as luck would have it, have a party for it this weekend. Also hovering: Diana Ross and Electric Guest.

Admittedly, the fact that Great Chicago Fire (Bloodshot) does not surround a narrative for local history takes the Waco/Burch combo down a notch. The album’s much better for putting out fires, those that are temporarily subdued by 12 ounces of suds. Not sounding like they labored too much over any particular track, Fire sounds like a live album in search of an audience: ducking its head in and out of doors with rough melodies and enough chords to separate verse from chorus but not too many to keep it from moving quickly. “Monterey” gets borderized and immediately brings out everyone’s debts to country & western, though don’t go thinking “Flight To Spain” has anything to do with Daniel; “Hard Rain’s Gonna Fall” is exactly what you think, and how it should sound. (Thursday@FitzGerald’s.)

Diana Ross‘ second self-titled album (her 1970 solo debut was later renamed for “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”; this 1976 LP has just been reissued) may not have been the peak of her powers, but it was the last time she’d be so current and complete. Though she had firmly entrenched herself in the raging new waters of adult-contemporary (evidenced by the tacked-on single/theme to Berry Gordy’s Mahogany film, in which she starred), Diana Ross would open her doors to disco (“Love Hangover”), sported some burlesque-worthy pop (“Kiss Me Now”), an Ashford & Simpson track Carole King would be proud of (“You’re My Good Child”), and Jackson 5 funk (“One Love In My Lifetime”). (Friday@The Venue in Hammond, IN.)

When Danger Mouse works as a producer, you can hear his presence. Take the last two Black Keys albums, or Norah Jones’ new one: the benefitting artist is working with a whole new pallette. So the issue with DM giving a hand to Electric Guest’s debut, Mondo (Downtown), is parsing who’s responsible for what. “This Head I Hold” and “Waves” could have come from the sessions for either Gnarls Barkley album, though there’s no confusing Asa Taccone for Cee-Lo. In the grand scheme, it shouldn’t matter: this is a team working on these songs, and if they’re good they’re good. Half of them are. The nine-minute “Troubleman,” which sounds like the longest Josh Rouse track in the world, underscores a strummy blah that consumes the bad half, where no one put in enough work. (Friday@Schubas with Brother George.)

– Steve Forstneger

The cover portrait on Lambchop’s Mr. M (Merge) is not Vic Chesnutt (Chesnutt, for one, did not own such a hat), and he is not mentioned at anytime during the album. But the songwriter’s death is its centerpiece, and it captures with grace Chesnutt’s difficult but rewarding (for us, at least) existence.

Chesnutt and Lambchop principle Kurt Wagner became fast friends after Lambchop backed the former up on The Salesman And Bernadette (incidentally, the album that got Chesnutt dropped from Capitol), and his death is said to have hit Wagner hard. The resultant Mr. M becomes the most stately and sedate catalog entry since, O.K., their last outing Ohio (OH). But the only other person making mature, widescreen chamber pop this affecting is Robert Hawley, and Lambchop get extra points for not using Roy Orbison as a base. (Tuesday@Lincoln Hall with Darin Gray.)

– Steve Forstneger

Shortly after the Kaiser Chiefs opened their concert at House of Blues last Thursday, vocalist Ricky Wilson offered a cheeky introduction for the first single from the band’s latest release by declaring, “It’s new, it’s brilliant, and it’s called ‘On The Run.’” The capacity crowd readily embraced the melodic satire from Start The Revolution Without Me, and everything else the band played in a rousing 90-minute set. Kaiser Chiefs may not be as highly regarded in the States as they are in their native England, but they do have an avid following in Chicago.

“Guys, guys, guys, settle down!” Wilson teased as the audience continuously clapped and sang along. The performance had the feel of partying in an English pub, although, definitely amplified. Despite having five successful and critically acclaimed CDs under their belts, the musicians exuded a youthful intensity. Wilson and drummer Nick Hodgson, who added spirited backup vocals, were particularly active in engaging the crowd. Keyboardist Nick “Peanut” Baines, sporting a fedora with blinking lights, gave songs like “Good Days Bad Days” and “Everyday I Love You Less And Less” an infectious new-wave energy.

Much of the appeal of catchy songs like “I Predict A Riot” and “The Angry Mob” is the way the lyrics could serve as slogans at a political rally. Wilson brought them to life, pumping his fist, or dodging and weaving like a prize fighter. At one point, he left the stage for a new vantage point on top of the bar. After revving the audience with a barrage of fast tunes like “Kinda Girl You Are” and the earlier hit single, “Ruby,” it was surprising that Kaiser Chiefs finished on a more sedate note with “Love’s Not A Competition (But I’m Winning).” But the audience didn’t seem to mind. After a pair of well-received encores, Wilson thanked the crowd and tossed aside his mic. Those familiar with Kaiser Chiefs no doubt left satisfied, while it’s safe to predict newcomers to the band’s joyous riot performance style would want to go out and stock up on Kaiser Chiefs LPs.

Opening act Empires muscled their way through a 35-minute set that blended hard rock with elements of grunge. The Chicago/New York-based band performed songs from its most current CD, Garage Hymns, as well as the upcoming EP, Can’t Steal Your Heart Away. The title track of that EP, and other hard-hitting songs, were delivered via thundering drums, shimmering guitars, and a charismatic vocalist Sean Van Vleet, who could howl as well as work in a more soulful vein.

– Terrence Flamm

Once you’re through sullying the holiness of Record Store Day by celebrating its more consumerist aspects, Brendan Kelly, Modeselektor, Ed Sheeran, Serge Devant, and Anya Marina will throw their arms around you and try to get you in the door.

Old punks don’t die: they go acoustic. It certainly seems to be the trend in Chicago, as we’ve witnessed Dan Andriano, Josh Caterer, Jon Langford (to a degree), and Chris McCaughan pull up chairs. So is it McCaughan’s Broadways/Lawrence Arms accomplice Brendan Kelly’s turn? Pass. On I’d Rather Die Than Live Forever (Red Scare), Kelly’s just as raspy and pissy as usual — the songs merely have more of a barroom-rock swagger. He advises, “Bitch, quit’cher fuckin’ crying” on opener “Suffer The Children, Come Unto Me,” and the menacing “A Man With The Passion Of Tennessee Williams” bears sonic resemblance to The Replacements’ version of Kiss’ “Black Diamond” minus the metal riff. All 90 seconds of “American Vagina” take a swipe at Green Day, while “Covered In Flies” could be an ode to Andriano’s work in Alkaline Trio — work Kelly clearly thinks Andriano should man up and get back to. (Saturday@Beat Kitchen with The Sidekicks and This Is This.)

Radiohead fans who jumped on Modeselektor’s 2007 collaboration with Thom Yorke (“The White Flash”) and then last year’s double reprisal should know this: the Berliner duo don’t always sound like they’re just to the left of Kid A. It shows you just how crucial that casting can be when hiring a vocalist, because earlier on Monkeytown you could mistake them for The Digital Underground or MF Doom: such is the effect of Busdriver and Anti-Pop Consortium’s verses. They handle ambient techno (“Blue Clouds,” “War Cry”) as well as spliced up dancefloor grinds (“Grillwalker”), and congratulations on finding more in dubstep (“Berlin,” “Humanized”) than an excuse to compose a drop. (Saturday@Metro with Egyptrixx and Abstract Science.)

Toward the end of his Elektra debut, Ed Sheeran taunts, “You need me, I don’t need you.” In reality, if something terrible ever happened to Sheeran, the industry could easily manufacture another of him. On the first two cuts of June’s forthcoming +, his own assembly line produces such notebook wordplay like “under the upperhand” in “The A Team,” and “on the right side of the wrong bed” in “Drunk,” and it’s not long before he resorts to claptrap like “You will never know just how beautiful you are to me” and “This is the start of something beautiful” so he can get a little pantyrub. His angle is that of a John Mayer who drinks too much, a role he assumes as convincingly as Freddie Prinze Jr. playing a bookworm. A surprising, Twista-like rap on “U.N.I.” provides evidence that he’s slightly more than a cut-out, but the ease and willingness with which he shrinks back into type is depressing. (Saturday@Aragon with Snow Patrol.)

Electronic music — specifically big, anthemic European-style house and techno — loves it some videos with barely dressed women cavorting, bending, washing cars, eating cherries in ways that take more energy and tongue manuevering than the calories and vitamins that the tiny fruit offers. Russian-born/New York-bred DJ Serge Devant recently released a video for his “On Your Own,” and it stars genetically advantaged model Anna Vishnevskaya. Her role in the clip is to make the male protagonist feel like shit. Not by teasing him sexually, but ditching him the day he gets an eviction notice and his life starts going down the toilet. On the surface, Devant’s music doesn’t show much, but Rewind (Ultra) convinces once you get deeper. It also boasts an unusual feature for this genre: a cover, here of Finley Quaye and William Orbit’s “Dice.” (Saturday@Spy Bar.)

Given that she looks like a blond Shelley Duvall, it’s hard to believe that Anya Marina has trouble getting a crush to “Notice Me.” The opening of her sophomore outing, Felony Flats (Chop Shop/Atlantic), plays similarly and frustratingly coy with Veruca Salt-ish power-pop. Sensing she could do songs like “Body Knows Best” and “Notice Me” in her sleep, Marina gets out of bed for the wildly divergent “Believe Me I Believe,” where her associations and friendships with members of Spoon, Modest Mouse, and Telekinesis seem to make more sense. It’s a haunted track that bleeds into the equally disconcerting “Hot Button” and then the rest of the album. But why you would tempt fate with two throwaways like the openers is beyond reason. (Monday@Lincoln Hall with Eric Hutchinson.)

– Steve Forstneger

Is your favorite record store participating? Head to recordstoreday.com/Venues to find out for sure, and be sure to call ahead in case they want to reveal what special items they’ll have in stock, and a good chunk of them will have food, in-store performances, discounts and food!

Last year’s stunning “test-master” edition of Big Star’s Third will be hard to top, and be on the lookout for one-off collaborations or split singles, like when Bon Iver and Peter Gabriel covered each other in 2010. This year’s hottest item appears to be The Flaming Lips & Heady Fwends, a multi-colored, double-vinyl-only collection that features collaborations with Kesha, Bon Iver, Nick Cave, Yoko Ono, Chris Martin, and Erykah Badu, among others. Separately, the Lips get covered by Mastodon on Warner Bros. newly annual “Side By Side” campaign. On the novelty end of collectibles, the Tompkins Square label is issuing a pair of 78 rpm records, by Luther Dickinson and Ralph Stanley, respectively. The Record Store Day website reminds us that not all stores will order or even receive the same items, so it’s a good idea to A) double-check that your fave is participating and B) maybe give a call to see what they might be thinking of ordering.

Over at Chicago Reader, Peter Margasak takes issue with local reissue label Numero Group, who will have their own one-day shop open at Empty Bottle — an affront, he says, to the mom-and-pops who battle it out the other 365 days of the leap year.

The singer/songwriter profession requires an arrogance that says you’re the best person to sing your songs. Society has followed suit, forging a divide among all fans where an artist’s worth often hinges on whether one writes their own material. Anais Mitchell, with a voice both twee and polarizing, clearly feels her attachment to Young Man In America’s tales of family woe (daddy issues pop up more than once) give her license to sing them. The whimsical arrangements do plenty to validate her choice, rising and swooning and theatrically tip-toeing, though one does wonder how a more traditionally powerful set of pipes would alter the material. (Friday@Space with Cuddle Magic.)

Once known as “Basher,” Nick Lowe has majorly mellowed. Labeled a late ‘70s punk rock/new wave pioneer (like early collaborator Elvis Costello), this moniker was a misnomer; Costello portrayed the “angry young man,” but Lowe, with his premature gray hair and hard-pounding pop sensibility (“Cruel To Be Kind,” “(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love, And Understanding”), was mildly peeved at best. Since the mid-‘90s, Lowe has shifted from sharp-tongued “Nick The Knife” to languid lounge lizard. A new collection of calm, quiet covers (including Costello’s passionately pleading “Poisoned Rose”) and originals, The Old Magic (Yep Roc) continues this tranquil course. New songs “Stoplight Roses,” “Sensitive Man,” “I Read A Lot,” and others brim with Lowe’s trademark wry wit and irony, heartbreak, and sarcasm, while dangling on a light, jazz-like limb more reminiscent of the Nat King Cole Trio than Rockpile. The “Basher” of yore is missed, but this laid-back offering keeps his “Jesus of cool” persona intact. (Friday@Park West.)

– James Turano

What originally started as an under-the-radar webcast in 2007, has since evolved into an MTV Award-winning syndicated TV show and subsequent seven-city tour. Enter “Live From Daryl’s House,” the seemingly out-of-the-blue reinvention by Daryl Hall from strictly singer for blue-eyed soul mainstays Hall & Oates to a multi-media guru with hipster-friendly leanings. Need proof? Thus far the program’s boasted everyone from legends like Smokey Robinson, Todd Rundgren, Booker T & The M.G.’s, and Nick Lowe to Grace Potter & The Nocturnals, Fitz & The Tantrums, Neon Trees, and Mayer Hawthorne.

That multi-generational appeal continued on the road during a collaborative evening between the headliner, Sharon Jones (of The Dap-Kings fame), newcomer Allen Stone, and a video-screen cooking lesson from cheesesteak chef Tony Luke. Granted that last virtual guest would’ve faired much better had the audience been in Hall’s actual house, but considering the Chicago stop was switched from the sizeable Auditorium Theatre to the smaller Vic, the night managed to evoke intimacy nonetheless.
 
Those who showed up to only hear the Hall & Oates hits didn’t get very many (another chance comes during the duo’s Ravinia September 1st stop), but the show certainly lived up to its “Nu-Soul Revue” subtitle. Considering Hall is one of the best blue-eyed soul singers in the game, crossed with Jones’ smoldering R&B abilities, and Stone’s pitch-perfect retro revivalism, there was plenty to put concertgoers in a Philly-meets-Motor City state of mind.
 
Cuts from Hall’s new solo outing, Laughing Down Crying (Verve Forecast), fit snuggly into the format, including the horn-heavy “Save Me” and the jazzy “Eyes For You (Ain’t No Doubt About It).” From Jones’ songbook, “100 Days, 100 Nights” simmered sensually and “I Learned The Hard Way” exploded with classic blues riffs, while Stone shined across the self-penned smoker “Celebrate Tonight” and the Motown-like “Say So.”
 
As for those beloved H&O flashbacks, Hall showcased his singer/songwriter side on “Everytime You Go Away” and turned the dated studio productions of “I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do)” and “You Make My Dreams” into vivacious R&B arrangements. It’s a shame more people weren’t on hand to see it all transpire, which, besides being a rare chance to see the veteran in a club setting, also boasted a sumptuous creative detour that lent stock to his often underrated abilities.

– Andy Argyrakis

International Pop Overthrow returns to Chicago on April 19th and will run through the 28th at Red Line Tap. Each night will showcase at least six power pop or indie rock bands, with additional daytime showcases on Saturday, April 21st, Sunday, April 22nd, and Saturday, April 28th. David Bash, who brings “International Pop Overthrow” to 16 cities, including Liverpool and London, has assembled another Chicago lineup of veterans and promising rookies.

Phil Angotti, who was part of last year’s sold-out Material re-Issue gig with Ted Ansani and Mike Zelenko, will be performing his own music as part of Ginger Records Night. The Webstirs, and five other acts will also be part of the showcase.

“Mike McLaughlin and Big Al of Ginger Records asked if they could do a ‘night’ with us,” Bash explained via e-mail. “As Ginger Records artists have played IPO – Chicago (as well as other IPO cities) for many years, it was a slam dunk for me!” 

Like Angotti and The Webstirs, Mimi Betinis, The Abbeys, 92 Degrees, The Valley Downs, and Van Go have logged several IPO appearances.

“I’m very thankful that so many fine artists play IPO – Chicago each year,” Bash said. “I like to think what most attracts them is that they know they’re going to be on bills with cool, like-minded bands, playing in front of crowds who really dig what they do, and that I’ll treat them like family.”

Over the past few years, bands like Aaron Fox & The Reliables and Magatha Trysty have quickly established themselves as IPO standouts. Both groups, along with Wes Hollywood, Go Time, Red Plastic Buddha, and Trolley will be playing songs from new CDs this year. Some acts will be appearing for the first time, although Bash seemed reluctant to name which ones he finds the most promising.

“It’s like asking which of your children you love the best!” he joked. “Of those from Chicago, the IPO newcomers I’m most excited about are probably Jess Godwin, and Left Turn At Albuquerque.”

Bash also has high hopes for The Iveys from Texas, and New Inhabitants from Kansas. He prefers bands try out for IPO by introducing themselves via an e-mail sent to intlpop[at]earthlink.net, letting him know at which website(s) he can hear their music. Or they can use Sonicbids, a web-based organization that enables bands to apply directly to festivals.

This year all of IPO – Chicago will be held at Red Line Tap, leaving The Abbey Pub out of the mix for the first time. Bash explained the change came about naturally.

“For the past couple of years we’ve done shows at Red Line Tap, which have all gone well,” he said. “Brettly Kawaguchi has been absolutely great in helping promote the shows. In 2011, we did shows exclusively at The Abbey and Red Line Tap, but when longtime Abbey talent buyer Sean Duffy informed me that he was leaving, I took the opportunity to ask Brettly if we could do the whole festival at Red Line Tap.”

Holding IPO at one venue is easier on Bash, who personally introduces every act. The hectic schedule can be challenging.

“With each passing year the pace of the festival, along with the traveling, does tend to wear me out a bit more,” Bash said. “But at 53, despite having a bad back from lifting gear and suitcases, I still look forward to doing this every time!”

– Terrence Flamm

In an interview, presidential hopeful Mitt Romney tells President Obama to “start packing.” Romney, after all, has been on the road since last fall, and wants Mr. Obama to be prepared for a grueling tour. Also on the road this week? For All I Am, Trust, Bear In Heaven with Doldrums, and Tanlines.

I don’t know how they do it in Buffalo Grove, but For All I Am have jumped the gun. While Rhino reissues Pantera’s Vulgar Display Of Power next month, FAIA’s debut EP for Equal Vision sinks its nails into the vaunted Texan band’s followup, 1994’s Far Beyond Driven. Of course, it’s difficult to pin Lone Wolf’s influences to any single band, as tracks like “Injustice” tie themselves more closely to garden-variety metalcore. Co-vocalists Aria Yavarinejad and Chase Wagster deliver a constantly multiplying array of screams, barks, tenors, and screeches, often approximating System Of A Down set to puree. The Pantera reference frequently shows in dissonant, downtuned chords and Aaron Martinez’s dexterous drumming. Though this is just a sampler of a young band, they try too hard on “Eyedentical,” a kitchen-sink metalcore track that even features a quick dubstep drop and a shoehorned guitar arpeggio. Their heroes, at their best, kept things disarmingly simple. (Tuesday@Penny Road Pub in South Barrington Hills with Texas In July.)

Ten years ago, few would have believed that indie-rock fans would be so fond of dancing, so now’s as good a time as any to see if the mainstream will revisist goth pop as well. Trust, duo Robert Alfons and Maya Postepki, use TRST (Arts & Crafts) to play up the genre’s more accessible beats and dour melodies, while also retaining the edge that suggests you might not yet be ready to see what’s behind portcullis number three. Before it can slip down the retro garbage shoot, “Gloryhole” successfully incorporates elements of Moombahton atop thick waves of synth-bass and ghostly accents while “Heaven” sports a pornographic thrust and glimmering Euro-club lines. TRST’s vocal melodies, however, sound suppressed not in a theatrical way, but almost to hide them. (Tuesday@Empty Bottle with Valis and Dear Recipient.)

You know when you’re at a dinner party, and conversation keeps running artificially while everyone’s clearly looking at their watches but doesn’t want to be the one who breaks things up? And then your host finally caters to good sense with, “Well, we have an early day tomorrow,” and you clumsily utter “I was just about to say that” or “Yeah, us too”? It might happen to you while navigating Bear In Heaven’s Dead Oceans debut, I Love You, It’s Cool. The album’s first five tracks are as clattering and claustrophobic as the interior of a washer/dryer, with a speaker-rattling, buzzsaw bassline that’s as jarring as it is overused. Then, in the spacious “Cool Light,” the band tease “Too late/now I’m gone.” But that’s what I was going to . . . Bear In Heaven aren’t really gone, and hit a soft patch in “World Of Freakout” and “Warm Water.” Better late than never.

Equally chaotic, but more coherent, opener Doldrums‘ auteur Eric Asher can’t decide on a constant for the Empire Sound EP, and is all the better for it. Opener “I’m Homesick Sittin’ Up Here In My Satellite” rams Atlas Sound into a high-school football game, which gets interrupted by a murder and a violin virtuoso. From there’s the bhangra-influenced sample frenzy of “Parrot Talk” and sledding on the remote ice planet of “Endless Winter.” Asher’s gift for melody hasn’t fully developed, but a voice that echoes Perry Farrell is enough to go on for now. (Wednesday&Thursday@Schubas with Blouse.)

The inexperience of young bands grows in prominence as more of them headline mid-size clubs on their first- or second-ever tours. Some attempt to self-manage after having self-produced their own music; others misguidedly invent un-Googleable bandnames that supposedly create marketing mystique, mindless of the fact that Google will always catch up. Still more will drop a catchy single with little or no other quality music in the kitty, and inadvertently accelerate the one-hit-wonder parade to 4G speeds. Tanlines dropped their own catchy nugget, “Real Life,” almost two years ago and then did the smart thing: waiting ’til the rest of their work caught up. When their True Panther debut, Mixed Emotions, finally arrived this spring, it showed a slight lack of confidence by including the old single, but immediately the decision helps contextualize the track with synthy, Afro-pop-inflected dance music that doesn’t rely on either of those dressings. Presently, Tanlines’ recordings are stuck in the ’80s revival — in the future, however, it doesn’t appear that their songwriting will be. (Thursday@Empty Bottle with Rewards and The Field Auxiliary.)

– Steve Forstneger

The forecast calls for precipitation this weekend, and also for a bunch of dudes to come to town. We spotlight Howlin’ Rain (natch), Good Old War, Bassnectar, and Fun.

Howlin’ Rain, the revisionist rock band fronted by Ethan Miller (ex-Comets On Fire), are back with a third album — one that took the group nearly four years to make. With Columbia prexy Rick Rubin in the producer’s chair, I would have thought the group was heading in a more minimalist direction, but, they have in fact, done the opposite.

The result is The Russian Wilds (American),  a rock ‘n’ roll cornucopia of songs that, quite frankly, are all over the place. Not that this is such a bad thing; the classic rock bands of the ’70s that Howlin’ Rain emulate (Zeppelin, Rush, Styx, Creedence) made wildly diverse records, too. You don’t hear that so much anymore, so this record stands out because of it.

“Self Made Man” opens and is a throwback to the Zep/Rush rockers of the mid-’70s. It borrows heavily from Neil Young’s “Down By The River,” but works nonetheless. Miller’s vocals remind me on more than one occasion of early Sammy Hagar, but in the same breath, he performs a gentle read on other songs, so, it is hard to pigeonhole him. “Phantom In The Valley” (which clocks in at almost 8 minutes) plays out as a midtempo rock ballad, and then quickly moves into a  Latin-salsa horn-laden anthem.  Another highlight is the LP’s sole cover: a spacy remake of the James Gang’s “Collage.” Lots of spirit on this disc, but Howlin’ Rain would have a stronger LP had they been reined in a little more. (Saturday@Ace Bar with Buffalo Killers and Broncho.)

– Bruce Pilato

Despite shooter video games, one of our Afghanistan/Iraq incursions’ legacies has been the awful truth of post-traumatic stress disorder. I’m sure Good Old War would hate to have any paragraph about their music open like that, though it seems the old-timey jocularity of their name was chosen with purpose. It’s also an allegory for voluntary relationship mindgames, the kind that get retold with occasionally wounded bereavement on Come Back As Rain (Sargent). Despite the heartache, the folk pop moves like a lithe cousin to The Avett Brothers, but still not agile enough to dodge the storm. (Saturday@Lincoln Hall with The Belle Brigade and Family Of The Year.)

Bassnectar’s Vava Voom plays like the tale of two bands, while fans of his mixtapes form a third. The official full-length combines relentless jams like the Lupe Fiasco-featuring title track, and scattered throughout are random bits of genius he had to release before a copycat competitor pounced. His Amorphous Music Mixtape Vol.7, however, does him no justice. An excuse to throw in some wobble or a bass drop never passes him, and despite the mix’s disposable intent, it slowly pushes you to the anti-brostep side of the line. Did we really need to drag Blur’s “Song 2″ into this? (Saturday&Sunday@Congress Theater with Vibesquad.)

With the fortune of a blockbuster single naturally comes a backlash, people who presume everything you represent can be condensed to the four-or-so minutes of Fun’s “We Are Young.” Those who do take the Some Nights (Fueled By Ramen) challenge on iTunes samples will get through the first two cuts shouting, “They’re ripping off Queen!” Those fewer who stick around will come to the conclusion that Freddie Mercury would give his left nut to still be alive and have a crack at something like this. Though the electronic and hip-hop tones are more stylistic than intuitive or functional, Fun embrace kitchen-sink spirit and catch themselves going over the top by not going too far over. Each listen is rewarded with something new, even if everything on hand isn’t completely rewarding. But to those who claim the music business now is just full of people who make singles, please allow me to retort. (Saturday@Vic Theatre with Miniature Tigers.)

– Steve Forstneger

Gotye managed to jump from the Park West to the Aragon Ballroom without playing a single note in Chicago. This impressive leap probably irked the Belgian Aussie’s handful of devotees and those taking pride in unearthing the undiscovered gem. (Really, buying tickets for a chance to see someone in a pristine intimate space only to find out you’re stuck with an inferior sound system must burn.) However, the blame rests on the strength of a killer single that does the nearly impossible: finding a home on both WRXT and The Mix’s playlists.

“Somebody I Used To Know” is Wouter De Backer’s “Rolling In The Deep.” It seems a bit cheeky to suggest Gotye could ever hope to achieve the same level of success as Adele (his status as the redheaded stepchild of Sting and Peter Gabriel cuts him off at the knees), but reserve multiple spots on the Grammy nomination list for the tune. Instead of wearing thin after multiple listens, the prickly xylophone and echoing mix of resignation and pleading turn all within earshot into obsessive-compulsives. Guest-vocalist Kimbra’s feminine push-and-pull makes it all a bit mental, too.

Toward the end of a 45-minute set at the sold-out venue (Kimbra likened the Aragon’s cosmos to Mordor during her opening slot), Gotye plucked out the familiar first notes of the hit, alleviating all that pent-up tension that comes from waiting. He sputtered to a quick stop after flubbing the lyrics, blaming it on people watching. Whether or not that’s the case, he seemed a bit exasperated at having to play the tune for the umpteenth time. This is not the time to get distracted, especially with a sea of outstretched iPhones and cameras casting a sickly glow over the room. Anyone not armed with a recording device screamed the lyrics to invisible phantoms of paramours while Gotye and Kimbra acted out the scene on stage.

Gotye showcased his third record, Making Mirrors, with the help of a crackling four-piece band that evened out the album’s electronic leanings. Surrounded by a sonic fortress of machines and waist-high percussive hardware, he looked like the captain of a futuristic spacecraft. This nerve center produced the Motown-ready saxophone-in-a-box of “Learnalilgivinalovin” and distorted his tenor into a bass worthy of Barry White on the reggae-flavored “State Of The Art.” The deliberate graze of “Heart’s A Mess” bounced up against the boogie of “In Your Light,” which could easily share DNA with a selection out of the Fitz & The Tantrums playbook.

Considered the luckiest Kiwi around, Kimbra’s riding the wave of “Somebody I Used To Know.” Gotye didn’t exactly pluck her out of oblivion; she’s had her Warner Bros. debut, Vows, prepped and ready. Dressed in a red satin flamenco dress, the lusty-voiced singer offered up a quick preview of her nostalgia-heavy style. The tribal rhythms of “Settle Down” coupled with her Billie Holiday rat-a-tat scatting defied lyrics longing for a future spent saddled with kids and a hubby. Stripped of its vocals, “Samaritan” could fit comfortably in the Dave Matthews Band school of jam-heavy riffs. Kimbra dropped the demure aura of her “Somebody” performance (cemented by YouTube’s viral reach) and let loose, turning the song into a primal catcall.

– Janine Schaults