Furthur w/ Bob Weir, Phil Lesh It dawned on me recently that maybe The Grateful Dead experience (and/or that of any of their various offshoots) is akin to watching a sport like soccer or hockey. You can appreciate them in perfectly-portioned, as-product form on your television, but for maximum enjoyment (and understanding), you need to be there to experience everything firsthand: the sleight-of-hand, seat-of-the-pants improvisation; the interaction between players; and the interaction between the players and those who are there to watch them. Secondly, no, it's not The Dead. Or the Grateful Dead, for that matter. But you will see Bob Weir, who, along with Willie Nelson, is one of the two best running-shoe clad guitarists alive. And with Lesh manning his customary position in the pocket, both musically and otherwise, right beside the drummer's bass drum it's probably as close as you're going to get these days. In any event, I get the sense this isn't one of those shows folks are going to be on the fence about. Bojangles' Coliseum (Timothy C. Davis)
Them Crooked Vultures Let's keep this short and simple Josh Homme of Queens of the Stone Age on guitar/vocals; Dave Grohl of Foo Fighters reliving his Nirvana days behind the drum kit; John Paul Jones thumping the bass. Power trio. Rock. Raw. No excuses. The Fillmore (Jeff Hahne)
Hamell on Trial Looking and acting something like the geeked-up twin brother of Anton LaVey, Hamell is a high-strung sort of guy, partial to a style of thrash-folk that most certainly won't be played at your local Starbucks anytime soon (see songs like "Ann Coulter's Snatch," which, it pains me to say and I'm a card-carrying pinko might be one of the single stupidest songs ever laid to paper). Dude sweats like a boar and puts on a hell of an energetic show, to be sure, but in a sort of watching-geriatrics-aerobicizing-in-Boca kind of way much exertion, little grace. Which is a shame, really he shows a bent toward lyrical substance and has passion to burn. Unfortunately, Hamell's seemingly content to keep lighting the musical equivalent of sparklers. The Evening Muse (Davis)
Midtown Dickens Last year's Lanterns won near-universal acclaim from the Triangle cognoscenti, and positioned the Durham quintet at the forefront of the next roots wave from that region. Recorded with local Scott Solter, the songs of Kym Register and Catherine Edgerton are paeans to the things we think we need but don't, and come in a warm, melancholic blend of punk-folk that recalls the gals in Freakwater only with a less rigid style palette and (on the downside) slightly less narrative sophistication (so far). The future looks very bright, though, and they are worthy of the torch I apparently just handed them. Opening for Lost In the Trees, and with Dylan Gilbert. Snug Harbor (John Schacht)
Hypno5E Oddly named French metal band's taste for experimentation ambient soundscapes, film noir soundtrack flourishes, industrial backdrops is infused so intricately among the thrashing guitars that it's rather improper to call them a metal outfit. Building epic, multi-part compositions, the quartet seems bent on exploding old myths that the French simply can't rock. Hypno5E are intriguing, expansive and, well, know how to rock. With Starring Janet Leigh and Fallen Martyr. Milestone (Samir Shukla)