THE WOMBATS
Hipster Brit-pop combo channels dreamy, dancey pop of the ’90s (Blur, The Cure) and ’80s (post-punk disco, keyboards-fueled new wave). The Liverpool band’s witty, snarky, “here’s the punch line” lyrics inspire sing-alongs, since the songs are immediately catchy and laden with big hooks. The trio manages a full sound that can fill a club with expansive melodicism. Sure, they gather alt-pop nuggets of the last three decades, but instead of imitating their influences, the blokes stroll down urban streets with their own happy-go-lucky pop. Last year’s This Modern Glitch delivered a stack of songs that reflect their funky worldview. Any band that goads listeners to “Let’s Dance to Joy Division” has my vote. With Morning Parade and The Royal Concept. $17-$20. Sept. 24, 9:45 p.m. Visulite Theatre, 1615 Elizabeth Ave. 704-358-9200.

ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT
It’s been 20 years since Arrested Development topped the charts with its debut single “Tennessee,” from 3 Years, 5 Months & 2 Days in the Life Of... . AD stood in the vanguard of conscious Southern hip-hop, talking about a different kind of revolution: Frontman Speech rapped about poor blacks and whites bum-rushing the system and in the next breath, baby sitting so a single mom could go out and attack the dance floor. The supergroup (at one time, there were close to a dozen dancers, singers, another rapper and a spiritual adviser in the group) won a couple of Grammys, but as gangsta rap took over mainstream hip-hop, AD’s popularity waned. The group has continued to make music, maturing strong harmonies and sharp lyricism, and is marking the album’s anniversary with a national tour. Besides classics like “Mr. Wendal” and “People Everyday,” expect to hear material from the group’s new album Standing at the Crossroads, available now as a free download. Let’s hope that next time, Speech and company don’t make us wait so long. $20-$23. Sept. 22, 8 p.m. Amos’ Southend, 1423 S. Tryon St. 704-377-6874.

SEX SLAVES
Lower East Side reprobates with a salacious monicker, Sex Slaves deliver glammy, punked-up ear candy designed to give you a hard-rock boner. Whether they succeed depends on how well you’re connected to your inner suburban adolescent. Citing influences as diverse as The Cult, The Dead Boys and The Beatles, Sex Slaves are closer kin to energetic but too-clean-sounding rock choristers like punk fanboys Die Toten Hosen or leather sex goofballs Turbonegro. Sex Slaves’ stuff rocks and it’s entertaining, even if the lyrics devolve to sub-Mötley Crüe couplets (well, the benighted Sir Mick Jagger got it right when he said that sometimes the words don’t matter). What’s missing from Sex Slaves’ good time skank 'n’ sleaze is the profound decadence of the New York Dolls or a genuine sense of danger. This bunch is more likely to rock you like The Scorpions’ “Hurricane,” than dump you downtown at dawn, piss-stained and dissipated with Richard Hell’s Voidoids. Sex Slaves’ smooth ride merely threatens to go off the rails. As a result, their fistful of cheap thrills falls a little short on actual thrills. With The Mangles, Chalkies, and Durty Rockstar. $8-$10. Sept. 22, 9 p.m. Tremont Music Hall, 400 W. Tremont Ave. 704-343-9494.

NORTH MISSISSIPPI ALLSTARS
Guitarist Luther Dickinson and his brother Cody were watching the musical tradition of Memphis blues they’d grown up with disappear. Sons of longtime Memphis musician and producer Jim Dickinson, they’d been steeped all their lives in the music of the South, and they weren’t about to let it go that easily. Forming the North Mississippi Allstars in ’96, they’ve spent the last 16 years making rootsy, rollicking Southern rock full of bluesy bluster and fuzzy guitars. Their latest album, Keys to the Kingdom, released in 2011, is mellower than the rest of their catalog and muses on life and mortality in the wake of their father’s passing. Luther’s worn-in voice and the Allstars’ toned-down style give their most recent collection of songs an unexpected sense of intimacy. With Missing Cats. $22-$37. Sept. 21, 9 p.m. Neighborhood Theatre, 511 E. 36th St. 704-358-9298.

ROSCO BANDANA
If there’s a stigma attached to being signed to the corporate offshoot of a restaurant chain that screams “commodity,” Gulfport Mississippi’s Rosco Bandana overcomes it with solid professionalism. The first band inked to newly minted Hard Rock Records, Rosco Bandana plays a clean mix of wide-screen vocals, rootsy folk and fiery bluegrass with a Skynyrd-fried dollop of loud guitars. A seven-piece, with no less than three singers, Rosco Bandana takes the stage like a ragtag delta militia, but as Americana partisans go, it’s a slicker-sounding crew than fellow travelers the Avett Brothers. Still, Rosco Bandana can rock, anchoring its keening harmonies with a country-blues stomp, lest those yearning voices float away on a “Mandolin Wind.” Solid, narrative songs and unfussy arrangements get a Team Buckingham-Nicks Fleetwood Mac gloss before the whole package goes knockin’ on country Bob Dylan’s door. Johnny Cash and June Carter’s “Jackson” is another touchstone, as well a Summerteeth-era Wilco. A jolt of Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” would be a nice, welcome touch, but right now Rosco Bandana is a little too grounded to get its hair mussed up. $8-$10. Sept. 21, 10:30 p.m. The Evening Muse, 3227 N. Davidson St. 704-376.3737.

HOLY GHOST TENT REVIVAL
Homeboys Holy Ghost Tent Revival hail from Greensboro, where the band makes old-timey folk-pop in the bluegrass and jugband vein. Featuring horns, electric instrumentation and the occasional gravelly holler that calls to mind the folkgrass of the early-period Avett Brothers, Holy Ghost Tent Revival fits squarely among a recent batch of young’uns discovering old sounds and instruments in a rollicking, modern way. They’ve been touring hard for the last three years and are preparing this summer to release a new album, Sweat Like the Old Days, which promises “an even more concentrated rush of electric joy that may surprise listeners accustomed to vintage Ghost.” And while the band might sometimes be difficult to distinguish from the other Americana acts making more rock-leaning, electric ’grass, Ghost can be counted on to perform with a foot-stomping passion that would send any fan of sick banjo picking home happy. $8. Sept. 21, 9:45 p.m. Visulite Theatre, 1615 Elizabeth Ave. 704-358-9200.

METRIC Metric’s Emily Haines remembers a time before iPads and smartphones, and she ponders what we’ve lost since consciousness went online to embrace a sea of distractions. Like its name, this four-piece makes music that is precise and measured. Building on a bed of moody electronic music that recalls post-Ultravox John Foxx and Low-era Bowie, Haines and guitarist/right-hand-man Jimmy Shaw craft big, hooky New Wave ravers with the shiny precision of The Cars and Blondie. Launched in 1998, Metric has gone on lengthy hiatuses more than once. During these breaks, Haines and Shaw have woodshedded with Canadian indie-rock supergroup Broken Social Scene, and their main band has benefitted from these sabbaticals. Soulful guitar and organic swagger have been added to Metric’s soaring choruses and pristine synths, adding gravitas to their slick New Wave perfection. Recently scoring David Cronenberg’s dystopian Cosmopolis, Metric proves that its medium is not its message. Beneath the brittle, sugary surface, Haines, Shaw and their cohorts ask how our brains have been rewired in the information age, and whether real and artificial experiences have become one. With Half Moon Run. $29. Sept. 17, 8 p.m. The Fillmore, 1000 N.C. Music Factory Blvd. 704-549-5555.

GARBAGE
Though Garbage had not made an album in seven years, its frontwoman Shirley Manson’s influence still reverberated through pop music, most notably in the sounds of bands like Metric and the fierce feminine posturings of artists like Lady Gaga. Garbage returned this year with Not Your Kind of People, which is certainly not its best recording to date. But it does signal a return to the stage for the alt-rock icons, meaning fans who’ve been scraping by on the diluted girl-rock power of Manson’s successors can get their first bump of her raw sexuality and stage presence post-Bush Administration. Garbage knows what the people want — some new tunes, yes, but also old favorites to sing along to at top volume — and the band delivers with all of the snarling charisma that made it one of the top acts of the late ’90s. Part of the 106.5 Weenie Roast with The Offspring, Flogging Molly, Coheed and Cambria and more. $20-$70. Sept. 16, 12 p.m. Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre, 707 Pavilion Blvd. 704-549-5555.

A SILENT FILM
Back when Echo and the Bunnymen seemed set to rule the world, passionate and wistful tunesmiths popped up like mushrooms all over the British isles. This indie-rock spawn ranges from the atmospheric Josef K to the anthemic U2. They, in turn, gave rise to the current crop of emotive Brits in love with the big hook — Keane, Coldplay, Editors and Snow Patrol. Emerging in 2005, A Silent Film had a way with sweeping drama and winsome vocals, but it wasn’t enough to cut them from the pack of pensive popsters. Then, like fabled pioneers Walt Whitman and Bob Dylan, A Silent Film discovered America. The band’s latest disc, Sand and Snow, was recorded in the Arizona desert, and it has the euphoric sweep and dramatic gait of a ride in the high country. Melodic and melodramatic, with loud guitars and bright keyboards, A Silent Film’s sonic template is a throwback to the big sound of Simple Minds. Romantic storytelling that suggests Bruce Springsteen’s The River by way of The Killers seal the deal. It all works because A Silent Film maintains a compelling tension between Jack Kerouac’s endless American highway and the band’s own, thoroughly British, misty mountain hop. With Dead Sara. $14.65. Sept. 15, 8 p.m. The Fillmore, 1000 N.C. Music Factory Blvd. 704-549-5555.

D’ANGELO If you were a middle-school girl around the year 2000, you probably remember D’Angelo like I do. He was the guy with the Adonis-like torso in the “Untitled (How Does It Feel?)” video — the one who made you have feelings you maybe weren’t quite ready for. Turns out that while my 14-year-old friends and I were marveling at the man’s obliques, he was busy being one of the best R&B artists of the ’90s and early ’00s. Known for long sabbaticals, he was M.I.A. for most of the aughts, with rumors and promises of his (still) forthcoming new record so frequent it might as well have been Chinese Democracy. Maybe he was just waiting for the right partner to hit the road with, and he found her in the queen of hip-hop soul, Mary J. Blige. Word on the street is that D’Angelo’s still got it in a big way, from his silky voice to his stage presence. It’s anyone’s guess how those abs have weathered the years, but his skills as a performer are certainly still intact. $38.75-$116.55. Sept. 15, 8 p.m. Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre, 707 Pavilion Blvd. 704-549-5555.