Rock Picks: Antony & the Johnsons, Kings of Leon, Jay-Z

THURSDAY, OCTOBER 9  

 
Global Drum Project at UCLA’s Royce Hall

In Mickey Hart’s big-bang theory, the universal noise signaling the creation of all things evolved into rhythm, and those mighty grooves vibrate at the core of existence, nurturing the life force. Should we be surprised that this worldview comes from a guy best known as half of the Grateful Dead’s drumming tandem? After all, he has done a shitload of psychedelics in his day and devoted himself to the study and advocacy of the planet’s percussive traditions. But Hart is no resting-on-his-laurels, pseudo-academic acid casualty, because for him the best of all things is putting hand, stick or mallet to drum in the company of simpatico groove merchants. His latest venture, Global Drum Project, features Hart, bata-conguero extraordinaire Giovanni Hidalgo, eloquent talking drummer Sikiru Adepoju and, especially, Hart’s long-time comrade in the groove, the insane tabla talent Zakir Hussain. Hart and his beat-crazy buddies have been deep diving into the planetary pulse stream for years, and the Project’s organic-electronic soundscapes represent some of their most evocative explorations yet. (Tom Cheyney)

 
Killing Joke, Pigmy Love Circus at House of Blues

Tonight there will be heavy-duty balls-to-the wall violence with doom and gloom as Killing Joke hits the stage. They’re only playing three U.S. cities on this tour and are gracing House of Blues in the same pounding-rhythm, grinding-vocal form they employed at their 1979 birth. Not only revered by the world of industrial music, Killing Joke have been cited and thanked by everyone from Ministry and Prong (both of which onetime K.J. bassist Raven later joined) to the Foo Fighters and Napalm Death. They’ve had a career spanning almost 30 years and over a dozen albums, and the set is likely to include everything from “Wardance” to “Democracy” and everything between. Hitting the stage before Killing Joke with the force of a beef-powered locomotive is Pigmy Love Circus. Prepare to be violated; get on stage and belt out a little “Dagwood Killed Blondie” with Mr. Savage — if you have the balls for it, that is. (Diamond Bodine-Fischer)

 
Also playing Thursday:

EMILY WELLS at the Hotel Café; GENGHIS TRON, HEALTH, YIP YIP, CLIPD BEAKS at the Knitting Factory; FLYING TOURBILLON ORCHESTRA, LISTING SHIP at Pehrspace; LOVE PSYCHEDELICO at the Troubadour; RANDY TRAVIS at Smothers Theatre, Pepperdine.

 
FRIDAY, OCTOBER 10 

 
Facing New York at the Troubadour

Facing New York aren’t terribly impressed by the visual aesthetics of some of the unfashionable police officers in their neighborhood. “How you gonna bust me in them little shorts?” wiseass singer-guitarist Eric Frederic wants to know on “Cops on Bikes,” the first track on the San Francisco trio’s new CD, Get Hot. With its quirky, funky grooves and rudely witty lyrics (“cops on bikes in those little socks/little schoolgirls wear the same socks”), the song sounds like it could be a big novelty hit, but Facing New York are more than just a one-note joke band. These guys are real players, with bassist Brandon Canchola and drummer Omar Cuellar laying down some muscular rhythms that give Frederic room to philosophize. There’s some prog-rock here, a little Steely Dan sophistication, and a whole lot of Parliament-Funkadelic’s surrealistic whimsy, filtered through the band’s non-genre-specific rambling. Frederic’s adventures doing laundry and looking for romance (“I need someone my age who can talk about campaign-finance reform and the Velvet Underground”) are entertaining enough, but the masterful hard-rock riffery and fun-kay space riddims really nail down these tunes. (Falling James)

 
Joan Osborne at El Rey Theatre

The Kentucky-born singer Joan Osborne is so in love with her adopted New York hometown, the city pops up like a recurring character throughout her new album, Little Wild One. She’s positively rhapsodic on “Hallelujah in the City,” which kicks off with folksy Appalachian acoustic-guitar plucking before descending into the bright lights and jangly electric guitars of the Big Apple. She sounds like she’s born again, as she floats ecstatically along Riverside Drive to Morningside Heights, then back through seemingly every church in Brooklyn. “Bury me on the Battery,” she insists with a heartfelt gospel emphasis that’s ironically more deeply rural than citified. Osborne’s at her best when she speaks for herself on “Light of This World,” which has a simple hymnlike purity. More problematic are the tracks credited to as many as five songwriters, none of whom can avoid rampant clichés about dreams (they keep her hanging on), needing someone (as much as the air that she breathes), cards (they’re always on the table) and angels (the ones who are fallen). Perhaps as a result of this Frankenstein song-cobbling, potentially promising verses often lead to ordinary choruses and weak bridges, such as “To the One I Love,” whose wistfully mysterious opening melody ultimately goes nowhere despite Osborne’s lovely voice and charming presence. (Falling James)