Rock Picks: BLK JKS, Lambchop, Efterklang, Yelle

FRIDAY, MARCH 6

BLK JKS at the Natural History Museum

Lambchop of Nashville: A majestic and dynamic countripolitan sound

Ports Bishop

Larkin Grimm: Mysteriously, untraceably exotic

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More About

• Steve Allen
• BLK JKS
• Akron
• Bebop
• Electronic Music

There’s a lot of excitement surrounding Johannesburg’s BLK JKS of late, and for good reason. It’s not every day that a South African psych-rock band with impeccable looks and serious chops arrives on our shores, much less signs to an au courant indie label like Secretly Canadian and releases an EP produced by one of the space-rock mavens from Secret Machines. Singer Linda Buthelezi and guitarist Mpumi Mcata are childhood friends who taught themselves music on a dusty street corner in East Rand, the region where South Africa’s ill-fated gold rush began. While the discovery of BLK JKS’ music has a certain “eureka” quality to it — imagine Boyz II Men mashed up with Mars Volta and Black Uhuru — clearly it’s these two and their furious rhythm section who are aiming to claim new ground. The Mystery EP drops March 10, and BLK JKS’ appearance kicks off the Natural History Museum’s annual First Fridays series. (Chris Martins)

Pharoah Sanders at the Jazz Bakery

The man once known as Ferrell Sanders is one of the few remaining direct links to that mad period in the mid-’60s, when John Coltrane’s brain practically exploded with new ways of looking at jazz. Pharoah Sanders’ supple tenor-sax forays were a huge influence on Trane’s experiments with extended, contemplative, almost-spiritual mood pieces, and the two saxists’ twined solos expanded, and then destroyed, the boundaries between noise and melody. Following Coltrane’s death in 1967, Sanders began fronting his own groups and embarking on a musical journey that took him through free jazz, Afrobeat, R&B, hard bop and, less interestingly, mainstream jazz. Despite his various ups and downs, he’s usually remained adventurous and open-minded, particularly on 1994’s The Trance of Seven Colors (a collaboration with the Moroccan musician Maleem Mahmoud Ghania, which was produced by Bill Laswell) and 1996’s Message From Home, where he jammed with former Public Image Ltd. bassist Jah Wobble. It’s hard to believe that this legendary figure still doesn’t get enough respect, so here’s another chance to catch up to his whirlwind mind. Also Sat. (Falling James)

Also playing Friday:

JON BRION AND FRIENDS at Largo at the Coronet; THE KLEZMATICS at Royce Hall; ARMORED SAINT, DEATH ANGEL at the Key Club; THE BAD PLUS, BOOGALOO ASSASSINS at the Mint; KEVIN SAUNDERSON at Avalon; TOM JONES at Club Nokia; MOVING UNITS, ALL LEATHER, RUMSPRINGA at El Rey.

SATURDAY, MARCH 7

Lambchop, the Radar Bros. at Largo at the Coronet

The grand Nashville band Lambchop has delivered its majestically morbid (or morbidly majestic) brand of orchestral country music for nearly 20 years. Its founder, lead singer and songwriter, Kurt Wagner, is a dour dude who smokes like a fiend, grumbles and mumbles into the microphone like he’s hooked up to a respirator, while oceans of arrangements and floral curlicues swirl around him. From the start, the guy’s been a major bummer, lyrically. One of his first great songs, “Soaky in the Pooper,” was an internal monologue from the perspective of a guy dying on a bathroom floor (“Better call the super/as I grip the towel rack for strength”), and from there, he and Lambchop — which at its peak contained at least 13 players, but these days consists of a more manageable five — have crafted 10 full-lengths that meld the countripolitan sounds of Charlie Rich and the expansive, highly orchestrated soul music of the 1970s (the band does a great cover of Curtis Mayfield’s “Give Me Your Love”). At their best, as on the masterful Nixon (purportedly a concept album about the disgraced president) and the dueling albums from 2004, Aw C’mon and No You C’mon, Wagner’s gothic topics (equal parts funny, grumpy and mean-spirited) and rich instrumentation (lots of strings, horns and gentle guitar melodies) combine to create beauty. The band’s fantastic new album, Ohio (OH), is an energetic return after a couple relative snoozers. It’s rich, smart, witty and true. Highly recommended. (Randall Roberts)

Dick Dale at the Canyon

Guitarist Dick Dale almost single-handedly invented the surf-music genre — one of California’s most distinct indigenous art forms — back in the late 1950s, when he first started tearing it up at the old Rendezvous Ballroom in Balboa. He coated his sizzling single-note guitar licks in previously unheard-of amounts of reverb and juiced things up further with massive doses of volume and distortion — laying down the foundation for the rise of heavy metal. Dale is best known for the 1962 surf-instrumental classic “Miserlou,” which was popularized decades later in Pulp Fiction and given new life when it was sampled by Black Eyed Peas in 2005. Even at age 71, he’s still a wild man onstage, whether he’s battering his long-suffering guitar with drumsticks, vamping it up on trumpet or deflecting attention to his talented guitarist/teenage son Jimmy. The elder Dale has been a seemingly permanent fixture on the SoCal landscape, but his battle with a recurrence of cancer last year should serve as a reminder to not take his presence for granted. (Falling James)