Live Music

M83, Panacea, Bells Bells Bells, JamBang, John Densmore’s Tribaljazz, Swervedriver + Pontiak.

M83

I think the stunning French outfit M83 mixes ethereal guitar rock, cozy electronics and sunny New Wave dance sensibilities in a manner that suggests My Bloody Valentine scoring a John Hughes movie. But someone over at promoter R5 Productions put it so perfectly that I have to defer to their genius, and take the week off: “[It’s] the soundtrack to the love scene in some super bizarre anime … the part where the girl is going into space because she can’t live on earth because her tentacles keep killing cute little pandas, and her boyfriend is a giant panda, but they love each other so much her tears turn into jewels the pandas can eat to make them invincible. It’s that heartbreakingly good.” (Michael Alan Goldberg)

Panacea

With the sincerity and lyricism that made Common such a doll come Panacea, a hip-hop duo out of D.C. With low-key and mellow tunes, Panacea don’t write the hip-hop anthems of OutKast or Tribe Called Quest. Their beats, however, will still make you want to wave your hands in the air. MC Raw Poetic’s voice is smooth and comforting, while producer K-Murdock writes compositions that draw heavily from the lounge aesthetic of groups like Thievery Corporation. Together they slightly push the boundaries of hip-hop, nu-soul and dub. (Katherine Silkaitis)

Bells Bells Bells

Murky and morbid, the Philly five-piece Bells Bells Bells is a slow-burning, ever-churning garage-psych band that would’ve made Edgar Allan Poe proud. Amandah Romick’s eerily blank intonations come drenched in alternating shades of garage-y keys, bleary shoegaze and Rickenbacker magic, always with hypnotic pacing. Following a self-titled debut and an odd appearance on NBC’s local morning show, the band is poised to release Throw Down Your Anchor, recorded by Isaac Betsh of fellow local outfit House of Fire. As promised on Bells Bells Bells’ MySpace blog and proven toward the end of “American Gothic,” the record taps into prog’s sinister side without overdoing it in the least. (Doug Wallen)

JamBang

Greg Ginn—guitarist for punk progenitors, idols and badass kids Black Flag—has booked an entire tour pulling double-duty with two bands. With his eponymous opening band, Ginn has forsaken the anger of his youth for Texas two-step. Oh, it’s not straight-up country music, but it’s pretty damn close. Wandering guitar melodies and twang up the wazoo, coupled with an undercurrent of rancor and acerbic temperament, mean the band is more Jon Spencer than Johnny Cash. JamBang, on the other hand, sound like loud, experimental Chicago post-rock. Repetitive, chugging harmonies swirl underneath idyllic major-key melodies. It’s unlikely these bands would share the same bill were it not for Ginn’s role in both, but he’s a consummate guitarist and both acts are pretty stunning. Things collide, sounds that shouldn’t mesh do, and we have Black Flag to thank for all of this. (K.S.)

John Densmore’s Tribaljazz

The Doors’ lineup of Fender Rhodes, guitar, drums and no bass made for a weirdly jazzy environment; you hear the same configuration today in Chris Potter’s Underground quartet. Makes sense, then, for Doors drummer John Densmore to be leading Tribaljazz, a septet with saxophonist Art Ellis. Not unlike Mickey Hart of the Grateful Dead, Densmore makes a point of his multiculti orientation, recruiting players from Guatemala to Egypt. On a debut album for Hidden Beach, the group ventures new tunes, an Afro-Latin “Riders on the Storm” and a political spoken-word cut with Michael Franti. The playing’s pretty good if you can get past Alfre Woodward’s corny rap about Coltrane. (David R. Adler)

Swervedriver

The only reason you’d term the music made by recently reunited Brit quartet Swervedriver “shoegaze” is because while listening to it, you might look down when your heart bursts outta your chest cavity from the sheer exhilaration and volume and plops on the floor in front of your feet. Over four albums, the Swervies inserted tempestuous riffs into classic songs, then battered ’em with waves of gorgeous guitar blur that turned everything epic and expansive without sacrificing the rawk. Record label fiascos and other struggles sent the band into hiatus in 1999, but they’re temporarily reunited for this tour. The tunes hold up remarkably well—good for those who missed it the first time around, and old Swerve-vivors who never lost that feeling. (M.A.G.)

Pontiak

Three brothers from the Blue Ridge foothills make up Pontiak, weaving shimmering hazes of blues-flecked classic rock pyrotechnics into sludgy marches toward oblivion. It’s a majestic, heartfelt sound, one that tastemaker Julian Cope described as, “straddling a wide sonic rift valley, with references that stretch from the southern latitudes of Spain’s Viaje to the northern majesty of Black Sabbath and Harvey Milk via the Doors.” Pontiak are putting out a split this summer with the similarly hoary Arbouretum, featuring covers of three mid-1970s solo cuts from the oeuvre of John Cale. They’re calling it Kale which, if nothing else, proves the C key on their typewriter is broken. (Jennifer Kelly)