Music Picks

¡Forward, Russia! at Spaceland

Inevitably compared to fellow Brits Bloc Party, but oh-so-much more stylistically interesting, ¡Forward, Russia! spring from the same Gang of Four, jerky-dance-punk springboard as so many Anglo exports of late, but add At the Drive-In’s structural perversions and front man Tom Woodhead’s John Lydon–joins–the Darkness (yet somehow Morrissey-ish) yelp. If ADD’s your thing, dose-up on ¡Forward, Russia!, where nothing stays the same for more than a few seconds (though nagging hooks still emerge). It’s all about syncopation between bustling drums, prickly bass and spaces-in-between guitar, with Woodhead’s impatient proclamations encouraged by his bandmates’ rabble-rousing shouts and countered with deliberately dated cheese-synth excursions. They’ve toured their way, DIY-stylie, into the U.K. charts, so expect ¡Forward Russia! to have even a Silver Lake crowd spastic-dancing. (Paul Rogers)

Vice Squad ( you thought it was Debbie Harry . . .), Sunday

Bow Wow Wow, a.k.a. Aaron Carter’s favorite band, Tuesday

What’s a micromanaged glitchcore? Jamie Lidell, Wednesday (Photo by Diego Alborghetti)

Squint to see: Mouse on Mars, Thursday (Courtesy Diango Hernandez)

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More About

• Micah P. Hinson
• John Payne
• Matt Pond PA
• Abby Travis
• Hip-Hop and Rap

The Cramps at House of Blues

Since a particularly fateful night at fabled New York hellhole CBGB 30 years ago (November 1, 1976, to be exact), the Cramps have applied their bizarre psychedelic-rockabilly alchemy with often tremendous effect. While the only real constant in the group has been the partnership of delusion that bonds singer Lux Interior and guitar goddess Poison Ivy, the pair’s underworld vision — an intoxicating amalgam of juvenile-delinquent non-ethics, radioactive-poisoned movie monsters, messed-up hillbilly shit and hallucinogenic philosophy — has festered, like an inexorably expanding gangrenous wound, through the very fabric of hep Western pop culture. This latest incarnation, with Harry Drumdini back on the riser and former Famous Monsters/White Zombie thriller Sean Yseult on bass, should provide more than enough raw whammy to urge Ivy’s jolting guitar pyrotechnics and Lux’s self-destructive acrobatics to hazardous new altitudes. (Jonny Whiteside)

SUNDAY, October 29

Vice Squad at Safari Sam’s

Vice Squad don’t tour here all that often, so when a riot broke out just as they were about to go onstage at the British Invasion Festival in San Bernardino earlier this year, well . . . it figured. That’s punk rock for you. No expectations. Live for today. No future. No fun. Luckily, the Bristol-by-way-of-London group are already back on an extensive West Coast tour with a rampaging new album, Defiant (SOS Records), bursting with hardcore blasts like “Fast Forward” and the anti-greed rant “Ordinary, Decent . . .?” that rank with the doomsday scenarios of their early-’80s heyday, back when fiery singer Beki Bondage — one of the only women thriving in Britain’s notoriously macho hardcore scene — was England’s equivalent to the Avengers’ Penelope Houston (and an influential precursor to the riot grrls). Defiant ranges from the shout-along glam-rock of “Don’t Let the Bastards Grind You Down” to the swirling metallic tilt of the timely “War of Attrition” and, most intriguingly, “The Story of My Life,” a morbidly unsentimental Christmas song in which Ms. Bond lets down her guard beneath Paul Rooney’s insistent guitar and Mike Giaquinto’s sinister, lurking bass line. An early show, 5-9 p.m. Also at the Allen Theater, Tues. (Falling James)

Pere Ubu at Royce Hall

Bored with recycled gore and Japanese ghost children? Give radiation a chance! Of the free-range mid-’70s weirdos who made up the first generation of “punk” bands, David Thomas’ Pere Ubu — with their feverish hybrid of avant-garde garage rock — has delivered the most constantly surprising soundtracks to modern atomic life. Recently they’ve turned their attention to actual film soundtracks, wowing Europe with a live “underscore” to the last 3D print of It Came from Outer Space. To kick off their North American tour and finish out UCLA Live’s “Far-Out Halloweekend,” they’ll perform their other trademark cinematic mutation — a live take on Roger Corman’s superb 1963 film X — The Man With the X-Ray Eyes, followed by a concert set of songs from their great new CD, Why I Hate Women. (Doug Harvey)

MONDAY, October 30

The Roots at Avalon

Please, enough of this notion that the Roots are the best live band in hip-hop. Given the outrageous chops Philly’s finest have honed over 10-plus years running the road like rap’s Grateful Dead, they can take on pretty much any act out there, genre be damned. Black Thought, Questlove and the crew are deep in the zone right now, evidenced by recent red-hot performances and the sonically adventurous new album, Game Theory, their first on the Jay-Z–helmed Def Jam label. The defiantly paranoid “Livin’ in a New World” strolls campus with an indie-rock vibe like Pavement gone boom-bap, while “Long Time” touches upon TV on the Radio territory, for starters. The Roots are turning L.A. Halloween shows into something of a tradition, and one well worth celebrating. Also Tues. (Scott T. Sterling)

TUESDAY, November 2

Mouse on Mars at the Echo

On their new Varcharz (Ipecac), Düsseldorf electronic duo Andi Toma and Jan St. Werner blast to bits the slightly more pop-oriented realms their previous Radical Connector veered into, a curious decision in light of that album’s victorious balancing of harsh/cold ultra-cerebral electronics and microtonality with extremely funky dance-type shit. That’s maybe not so strange, though, since the pair’s raison d’etre is pushing boundaries, even self-imposed ones. At any rate, Varcharz is demanding in the near brutality of its commitment to the more jagged and painful extremes of electronic timbre, though once again you’ll notice their attention to form and rare dry wit (for this kind of music) flows in abundance. Onstage, they’re known to blow their intellectualisms to dance-floor kingdom come. (John Payne)