Photo by Angela Boatwright

Live Music

Chromeo, Bitchslicer, Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds, Black Landlord, Fleet Foxes, Major Leagues, Dressy Bessy + Grammar Debate!, Damien Jurado

Chromeo
Fri., Oct. 3, 8pm. $17.50-$18.50. With Treasure Fingers. Trocadero, 1003 Arch St. 215.922.LIVE. www.thetroc.com

Just dance, man. Like labelmates Justice, Chromeo plays smooth, silky and mildly provocative dance music. With elements of electrofunk pioneers LCD Soundsystem and Daft Punk—plus a smidge of Prince’s arrogance and the Pet Shop Boys’ moodiness—Chromeo is all about having a good time. And you know the minute the needle drops (or the iMac starts functioning), the audience is going to bust loose—feet tapping, booties shaking and sweat flying everywhere. If it all comes off a bit Euro (in a good way, of course), blame it on the duo’s David Macklovitch, who is getting his PhD in French literature. If only everyone’s professors were trendsetters by night. (Katherine Silkaitis)

From that attention-grabbing name to the repeated shouts of “Die, motherfucker, die!” on one song, Philly trio Bitchslicer kicks out profane, high-octane thrash-metal that’s all the more fun for embracing dirty sex and horror-movie imagery. After a string of naughtily titled albums, the band is about to embark on a cross-country tour with the 7-inch single “Addicted to Porn” in tow. They also covered Willie Nelson and G.G. Allin on their last album and have founded two surprisingly diverse labels—seven-year-old Worldeater and the newer Obscenity Cult. Not bad for three dudes with their minds in the gutter and their music burrowing happily to hell. (Doug Wallen)

Last year when Nick Cave was out touring with Grinderman—his snarling garage-rocky Bad Seeds spin-off band—the mercurial 51-year-old told me, “I’ve just finished writing a new Bad Seeds record and it doesn’t sound like Grinderman at all, but at the same time there’s a lightness of touch to it that I don’t think there’s been on the last four Bad Seeds albums.” “Lightness” doesn’t seem like quite the right word to describe new album Dig!!! Lazarus Dig!!!—as fiery, sinister and caustic a disc as the group has ever issued. Yet unlike recent Seeds albums this one feels more immediate, less abstruse; more concerned with matters of the flesh than of the soul. (Michael Alan Goldberg)

Philly’s Black Landlord combines elements of the city’s R&B and funk history with, oddly enough, the narrative and vocal stylings of Minneapolis hip-hop. As a “Fresh Prince of Bel-Air” intro blends seamlessly into a hook that would make Atmosphere proud, Black Landlord reigns at writing catchy, intelligent tunes. Memorable sax lines vie for attention with the lyrics as the eight-piece ensemble sings and swings. Not many acts could pull of an MC accompanied by bongos, a wind chime and a persistent, non-ironic cowbell, but Black Landlord plays by its own rules. Judging from MySpace pics, the band isn’t afraid to let loose, either. (K.S.)

Two and a half years ago, while living in Seattle, I wrote a piece on a promising new local band called Fleet Foxes for Seattle Weekly. At that point the group was unsigned, with less than a dozen shows under its collective belt, but you could tell by frontman Robin Pecknold’s terrific voice, startlingly sophisticated songwriting prowess and charismatic presence that they were on the verge of something special. Indeed, Fleet Foxes have since blossomed into an indie phenomenon, entirely deserved based on the earthy, enticing psych-folk and pop (and absolutely stunning vocal harmonies) found on their recent self-titled debut for Sub Pop. I’d catch them in these relatively intimate settings now, because they’re only gonna get bigger. (M.A.G.)

Not only was Marc Snyder an assistant engineer on Dr. Dog’s new record, his band opened for them in Lancaster, where most of Major Leagues are from. And really, Snyder and company’s drowsy, down-home folk-rock isn’t unlike early Dr. Dog, albeit with spacey noodling. The five-piece has been recording its debut album off in a cabin somewhere, and from what we hear so far—four songs are downloadable on MySpace—the results are warm and vintage-feeling. If “Aquajog” is a bit too My Morning Jacket, the country yawn of “Gasoline,” piano-tickled shuffle of “Moonlit Daydream” and organ romp of “Equal Uncle” more than make up for it. (D.W.)

The two faces of the Elephant 6 collective revolve around the heartbreaking Neutral Milk Hotel on one side and the sunny pop of the Apples in Stereo on the other. Dressy Bessy follows the latter’s lead. Sharing a drummer with the Apples, this garage-cum-power-pop quartet is bold, brash, rough around the edges and awfully catchy. With a bit of riot grrrl spirit, lead singer Tammy Ealom alternately recites, shouts and croons lyrics as pleasantly lo-fi, fuzzy guitars and drums illustrate her emotions. Get there early to see the indie pop of Philly’s Grammar Debate!, as Village Green Productions honchos take the stage instead of just booking it. (K.S.)

One of the more fascinating moments on Seattle indie-folk virtuoso Damien Jurado’s new Caught in the Trees occurs in the finale “Predictive Living,” when he slyly mocks the subject matter, style and creative process behind a decade of recordings. “Another jealous husband to be killed/ Better words have been sung out of tune/ I’m happy in this hotel once again/ Forcing thoughts to pen/ Rehearsals for the end,” he sings. Yes, like always there are jealous husbands, stalkers, despondent lives and disintegrating dreams masterfully sketched in Trees and also in concert—fleshed out by singer-cellist Jenna Conrad and multi-instrumentalist Eric Fisher these days. But even if Jurado is tiring of himself, truth is his vivid, melodic, emotionally devastating vision never gets old. (M.A.G.)