DOC MARTIN
Imagine going out every night and the dance floor becomes a vibrant, energetic family reunion. Hugs, laughter and kisses fill the space and all the freakin’ euphoria and serotonin released is enough to suffocate a small rodent. That was the scene last October — the last time Doc Martin was at Dharma Lounge. Martin represents the fundamentals of house music history. From the early emergence of the four-to-the-floor movement in the mid-’80s, he has been defining what we know now as house music. For more than 20 years, Martin has immersed himself in every facet of the dance-music industry — as a producing DJ, promoter, record label owner and record store man. Known for his extended live sets, Martin can seamlessly blend a multitude of dance sub-genres in one night. His crates, which are heavily influenced by cosmic disco, funk, acid and garage, are like no others’ collections, consisting of many records you have never heard of, and likely will never have the chance to own (sorry, deal with it). While bands and DJs peddle the same set around the world, Martin soars above the rest because he reads his crowd perfectly. Expect to dance. Expect to laugh. Expect to be inspired. $10. Oct. 13. Dharma Lounge, 1440 S. Tryon St. 704-334-8336.

AMBROSE AKINMUSIRE
For a new-school trumpet hotshot tipped to claim the mantle of Miles Davis, Ambrose Akinmusire sure doesn’t act like an enfante terrible. Though Akinmusire can blow as fierce as Freddie Hubbard, or as fluid as Clifford Brown, his focus is on team-playing. He’s just as likely to share the spotlight with his band as he is to improvise with slashing jabs and smoky tones. With influences ranging from Robert Johnson to Joni Mitchell, Akinmusire’s compositions value emotion over virtuosity. Indeed, many tracks on his breakout LP, When the Heart Emerges Glistening, began as written narratives, complete with dialogue. Once the message and the atmosphere was set in Akinmusire’s head, the scripts were thrown away and the instrumentals recorded. With his mix of musical invention and blunt emotionalism, Akinmusire proves that all the technique in the world goes for nought if “it don’t mean a thing.” $24. Oct. 12-13, 9 p.m. Casbah Durham, 1007 W. Main St., Durham. 919-687-6969.

JIM WHITE
At the height of the alt-country craze, Jim White’s strange and enchanting 1997 debut, Wrong-Eyed Jesus! (The Mysterious Tale of How I Shouted), provided welcome relief to all the earnest young men clutching whiskey bottles and dancing with the girls at the bar. Where a lot of young country rockers desperately sought authenticity by drinking hard and behaving poorly, here was a mature performer with loads of actual mileage on him — he’d driven a N.Y.C. cab, been a professional surfer, a fashion model, drifter, religious fanatic, apostate, drug addict — seeking the keys back to something resembling childhood innocence. His four full lengths since then have included deeply melancholic country fare; bucolic Appalachia folk that drifts past on banjos and strings like overheated summer days; gospel-flavored hymnals full of gothic imagery and found-sounds conjuring with equal fervor the secular and spiritual; and junkyard swamp blues-rumblers you imagine blasting forth from the muscle car White drove through the deep South in the 2004 documentary Searching for Wrong-Eyed Jesus. The real people in that film are the same marginalized ones in White’s songs — preacher’s wayward sons, meth-heads, jailbirds, Greyhound bus riders, trailer-dwellers and the like — whose battles lie with inner demons far more than historical Southern baggage. White’s one of them, too, and because of that his between-song banter seems a mere extension of his captivating songs. In an authenticity obsessed genre choked with tropes and musical deadwood lying around since the Skynyrdian age, White upholds the best legacy of Southern eccentricity, and writes a damn fine song to boot. $15/$17. Oct. 11, 8 p.m. Evening Muse, 3227 N. Davidson St. 704-376-3737.

BONNIE RAITT
Thank goodness for Bonnie Raitt. She mixes sharp, punchy rock, R&B and blues with sublime folk ballads, plays a mean slide guitar and has long been the antidote to all those low-talent female stars more into shaking their booties in gimmicky outfits than making potent music. Though she didn’t get mainstream kudos until Nick of Time, in 1989, Raitt’s been around since 1971, doing the festival circuit early on with likeminded rockers such as Little Feat. She’s a groundbreaker among female guitarists, her licks every bit as scorching as Lowell George’s, David Lindley’s or Ry Cooder’s. After a seven-year hiatus, Raitt returns this year with Slipstream, produced by Joe Henry and released on her own label. Typically Raitt, it channels reggae, soul, folk and blues, with a mix of great songs both mellow and rocking. $49.50-$59.50. Oct. 11, 8 p.m. Ovens Auditorium, 2700 E. Independence Blvd. 704-372-3600.

NICK LOWE
Never mind the Sex Pistols, punk really started with Nick Lowe. Founding seminal pub-rock band Brinsley Schwarz, Lowe’s back-to-basics blues-and-country-rock set the stage for punk, and his rough-and-ready production style established punk’s DIY aesthetic. Nicknamed “the Basher” for his knock-it-out-and-move-on style, Lowe produced and launched the careers of The Damned and Elvis Costello. For all that, Lowe was never really a punk, embracing the irreverent attitude of the genre but not it’s increasingly lock-step riff-o-rama. Indeed, his first single, “Marie Provost” is a cheerfully black-hearted ditty about a faded film star devoured by her dog. By the early ’80s, Lowe ditched his pop-star career for his first and abiding love, carefully crafted roots rock and country. Nowadays, Lowe has abandoned his smart-assed dark humor. Still, he retains his charming hand-made production style in the service of old-fashioned groovers that combine country, soul and Tin Pan Alley pop. In his 60s, and still not doing what’s expected of him, Lowe crafts perfect pop that sounds like standards from an alternate universe. With Chuck Prophet and The Mission Express. $25-$27.50. Oct. 9, 7:30 p.m. McGlohon Theater, 345 N. College St. 704-372-1000. www.blumenthalarts.org.

M83
Named after spiral galaxy Messier 83, M83’s epic song-scapes are as sprawling and crystal clear as the night skies viewed from a mountaintop observatory. French visionary, synth wizard and seer Anthony Gonzalez is M83, and these days he’s a bit of a wide-eyed optimist. Exchanging the Eno-esque ambience and dark My Bloody Valentine-style murk of earlier efforts for sleek neon tones and symphonic grandeur, Gonzalez’s recent work retains the cinematic sweep of yore, but applies it to pop songs. M83’s newest disc, Hurry up, We’re Dreaming, is a throwback to that most 1970’s of artifacts, the double LP. Though Smashing Pumpkins and Pink Floyd are cited as influences, M83’s adrenalized grandeur is closest to Manfred Mann’s proggy-but-tuneful early '70s stand-out “Joybringer.” With his yelping Peter Gabriel vocals, Gonzalez adds a dash of the ornate ’80s brat-pack sound left over from M83’s Saturdays=Youth. The result is clear, but not brittle, a sonic swirl that evokes the exhilaration of youth, when everything was possible and a little frightening as well. $44.50. Oct. 7, 8 p.m. The Fillmore, 1000 N.C. Music Factory Blvd. 704-549-5555.

BRAINSTORM
This Portland, Ore., outfit was voted Best New Band of 2011 by the Willamette Week, and in that competitive, Brooklyn-of-the-West-Coast cauldron, an imprimatur like that has to say something about the band, doesn’t it? Well, Brainstorm has just released its debut, Heat Waves, so the rest of us can decide on our own. Instantly notable are the cumbia rhythms, West African guitar lines, tuba and polyrhythmic harmonies that weave into an international art pop located somewhere between Le Loup, Fool’s Gold and Bitter Orca-era Dirty Projectors (Robby Moncrieff produced this one, too). What separates the songs from those acts, though, is a tangible ’70s soul undercurrent that results in more on-the-nose melodies. That’s great on tracks like “Death Bells,” whose inescapable riffs and three-part harmonies tap into a joy that completely belies the song title; it’s less impressive on a track like “Maybe A Memory,” where Brainstorm sounds like Hall & Oates lost in a Ghanaian desert. That’s thankfully the exception among these 10 tracks. Built around the duo of Adam Baz and Patrick Phillips in 2008 (bassist/singer Tamara Barnes recently joined), the band would seem to have a bright future even besides the fact that they’ve tapped into one of today’s most popular musical currents. With Dinosaur Feathers. $5. Oct. 7, 10 p.m. Snug Harbor, 1228 Gordon St. 704-333-9799.

JT AND THE DRAGPIPES
Fronted by Charlotte-area rockabilly fixtures Jem Crossland and Tommy Ray, JT and the Dragpipes smoke their tires, slick their hair back and cruise into your ears with ’50s style and grit. Backed by Austin Granger on stand-up bass and former Drat drummer John Marlow on the skins, the quartet plays a solid mixture of covers and originals (including some Crossland and Tommy Ray and the Ray-Guns tunes) filled with slapped bass and greased-up guitar riffs. Is it groundbreaking stuff? It’s not trying to be. The playful guitar work of the frontmen simply takes a defibrillator to a bygone era; reinjecting life into a classic style. The band’s foot-tapping, swing-dancing sounds just might wail enough to blow your top. So, don’t be a square — get your jeans rolled right, your ’do slicked back and enjoy the ride, daddy-o. Oct. 6, 8 p.m. Puckett’s Farm Equipment, 2740 W. Sugar Creek Road. 704-597-8230.

CROWFIELD
Initially, Crowfield may sound like a run-of-the-mill rock combo. But pay attention and, with repeat listens, the band’s songs fit snugly and unfold into straightforward, yet inviting, listenable roots-rock. Crowfield’s music is colored with psychedelic guitars, nicely woven lyrics and put together by a band that creates a big-yet-cohesive sound. They can hum along with acoustic songs that plead “use your inside voices, please,” to full-on rockers. The combo has the ability to hone in on stories and wrap them in music minus the unnecessary theatrics. The result is an honest sound from musicians who relish in the fact that, in the end, it’s simply about making good music, the type that sounds as warmly familiar years down the road as it does now. RIYL: Bodeans, Southern rock. With Noah. $10-$12. Oct. 6, 8 p.m. Evening Muse, 3227 N. Davidson St. 704-376-3737.

GRACE POTTER & THE NOCTURNALS
Not too long ago, Grace Potter was a jeans-and-T-shirt girl with mousy hair that let her vocals command attention. Her bluesy grit came via a thunderous vocal power that won over small audiences on a regular basis. Times have changed. These days, Potter shows off her long locks and even longer legs as she struts about big stages, front-and-center. The music is a bit more mainstream — enough that she opened for Kenny Chesney and Tim McGraw at Bank of America Stadium this past summer. However, beneath all the glitz and glam is the same lyrical prowess that won fans from the beginning, and the same Hammond organ that drives her music forward with vintage blues power. Don’t let the bigger venue fool you. Put on a blindfold and the music will still see you through. With Rayland Baxter. $25-$60. Oct. 5, 8 p.m. Time Warner Cable Uptown Amphitheatre, 1000 N.C. Music Factory Blvd.