THE LAST GOOD YEAR — The hard-rocking quartet’s got the songcraft and guitar chops down while telling mini-tales in every song. Spin the track “The Ballad of William and Maxine” for a taste. It’s a classic line-up of two guitars, bass, drums and vocalist that cranks out one rocker after another, colored with blues and Americana, but always with punch-in-the-gut dual guitars. The Indianapolis gents are essentially out to fire up gin joints and outdoor summertime gatherings. That’s about all there is to it. RIYL: Smithereens and the harder side of Drivin 'n’ Cryin. Also on the bill: Groove 8, Trinity Seed, and Old Rusty Mandolin. $7-$9. Aug. 12, 9 p.m. Milestone, 3400 Tuckaseegee Road. 704-398-0472.

DR. CIRKUSTIEN — Rocking a creepy carnival look pitched midway between Night of the Living Dead and a threadbare Moulin Rouge, Dr. Cirkustien stitches together fairground organ, reggae riddims and skronk in a monster mash-up in which the parts are greater than the whole. The best bits on Cirkustien’s Breaking the Seal EP highlight wheezy sideshow keyoards that drip atmosphere. “WTF” mixes Nick Cave/Birthday Party ranting with Italo-horror synths that do Dario Argento and Goblin proud, and “Dawn of the Ded” crossbreeds zombie ranking and skanking with Mr. Bungle free noise in a no man’s land between the Misfits and Madness. But the sleazy, cheesy fun is undercut by lyrics and vocals that shoot for Tom Waits “through a shot glass darkly” vision but land closer to Mark Lanegan’s bratty kid bro. Trying for edge, the guys opt for Zappa-style snark that includes way too many F-bombs, forgetting they’re most effective embracing their goofy gothic window dressing. Wanting to be red-meat maestro George Romero, they wind up as Ed Wood’s Plan 9 with a potty mouth. Free. Aug. 11, 9 p.m. Common Market, 2007 Commonwealth Ave. 704-334-6209.

TRAVIS PORTER— If you like exhortations on what to do with your hind end delivered over drum machine beats in a lazy Atlanta drawl, then Travis Porter is for you. Formerly known as Hard Hitters, the threesome from Decatur, Ga., has been circulating among the rap scene in the 'A’ for several years, coming up through the strip-club circuit of Buckhead. And if that information alone isn’t enough to give you an idea of what you’re in for at a Travis Porter concert, consider this: YouTube’s No. 1 search result for “Travis Porter” is a track called “Make It Rain,” which begins with the line, “You wanna see some ass, I wanna see some cash.” You’d be hard pressed to find clever rhymes or challenging topics here, but if you’re in the market for tracks ready-made to grind to, TPs got you covered. With Future, Miguel, Ace Hood, Pleasure P., Chief Keef and Mykko Montana. $20-$30. Aug. 11, 7 p.m. Time Warner Cable Uptown Amphitheatre, 1000 N.C. Music Factory Blvd. 704-549-5555.

INDIA.ARIE — She not only possesses the most beautiful “Brown Skin” on Mama Nature’s blue planet, but this queen of early-’00s acoustic neo-soul — the sound that continues to spawn earthy R&B singer/songwriters, from Corinne Bailey Rae to Nneka to Michael Kiwanuka — is a live presence to behold. India.Arie’s 2001 debut, Acoustic Soul, and follow-up, Voyage To India, are modern Motown classics that seamlessly blend her folk-based acoustic fare with smooth and polished contemporary soul and R&B, much like prime early-’70s Stevie Wonder, and well in keeping with her label’s rich legacy. Her Testimony albums of 2006 and 2008 — Vol. 1, Life & Relationship and the collaboration-heavy Vol. 2, Love & Politics — found her stretching in some new directions. On the former, she mixes her crisp but warm strumming with lush strings and whimsical electronic dabblings in songs like “These Eyes” and the heavenly “Heart of the Matter”; on the latter, she adds a gritty funk’n’blues stomp to “Better Way,” a collab with contempo bluesman Keb’ Mo’. India.Arie’s local date is part of Sol Kitchen’s “I Am Music Fest 2012” at Belk Theater, which also includes performances from Mint Condition and Laura Reed. $39.50-$79.50. Aug. 10, 7:30 p.m. Belk Theater, 130 N. Tryon St. 704-372-1000.

SONS OF TONATIUH, GROHG — Atlanta’s Sons of Tonatiuh’s latest, Parade of Sorrow, is a fierce, angry southern metal document. Down-tuned guitars skuzz and crunch along, referencing the low crush of sludge born in Georgia and neighboring states (hey, like ours!). But there’s also a Northeastern, urban hardcore metal flavor to the push and aggression of the drums — which launch into frenetic breakbeats as often as they lag to a molasses crawl — not to mention the unhinged, screamed vocals. Grohg also does some testing of heavy-music boundaries. The Raleigh outfit, led by singing drummer Will Goodyear (ex-Between the Buried and Me), heads more in a crossover direction, with spacious, eccentric death metal that is also accessible and fun. Case in point — non-metalheads show up at the band’s hometown shows, yet the Culture of Petty Thieves EP has seen love from metal blogs. How’d they do that? With Vex, and Musket King. $6-$9. Aug. 10, 9 p.m. Milestone, 3400 Tuckaseegee Road. 704-398-0472.

RAY WYLIE HUBBARD — For longer than you’ve been alive, original country punk Ray Wylie Hubbard has been singing about a poor West Virginia redneck who’s “not responsible for what he’s doing, because his mother made him what he is.” Hubbard’s “Up Against the Wall, Redneck Mother” may be a great barroom sing-along, but it isn’t necessarily one of his greatest songs. The 65-year-old troubadour is a storyteller of deep and wide-ranging talent who’s inspired a legion of younger fellow Texans like Hayes Carll and Ryan Bingham. Hubbard brings a grizzled wit and allegorical grandeur to the unmanageable lives of miscreants, addicts, gamblers and poets. For instance, in “Drunken Poet’s Dream,” he telescopes a lifetime of daily debauchery in a single line: “Whiskey bottles are scattered like last night’s clothes; cigarettes, papers and Oreos.” His latest, The Grifter’s Hymnal, finds one protagonist wondering how he wound up on “New Year’s Eve at the Gates of Hell.” Hubbard’s “Redneck Mothers” may not be his greatest, but there isn’t much more in life I’d like to see than this scruffy Texas outlaw, in a Charlotte bar, metaphorically throwing a bunch of greasy Tea Party “patriots” up against a wall. $15. Aug. 9, 9 p.m. Double Door Inn, 1218 Charlottetowne Ave. 704-376-1446.

MATH THE BAND This is the next logical step in Bomb the Music Industry’s hyphy take on ska-punk. By almost fully digitizing pop-punk and reducing it to chiptunes beep and skitter, Math the Band maximizes that already chipmunk-energy genre’s frantic sparkle. With lyrics that offer absurd, often deprecating takes on reality and drum machine-and-synth instrumentation, this duo fits right in with the northeast’s weirdo experimentalism. Much like fellow Providence over-stimulators Lightning Bolt, Math the Band matches its spastic bursts of hyperactive post-post-post-punk with bright pastel colors and Lisa Frank imagery. And much like their neighbors in Baltimore, this band is danceable, digital and ridiculous as shit — though Math the Band seems to have more of a sense of humor than their Wham City counterparts. With MC Lars, Adam Warrock, ThoughtCriminals, DJ Justin “Aswell” Blackwood. $10-$12. 9 p.m. Milestone.

FAT FACE TRIO A while back, the Shiprocked crew asked local tuba/trombone maven Molly J. to put together a horn band for their Mardi Gras night, and the six-piece ensemble duly killed. Since then, an informal klatch of local horn-blowers have performed Cinco de Mayo canciones and 4th of July marches as sort of a horn section-for-hire (they’ll get their Oktoberfest oompah-pah on soon, too). As an added bonus, this trumpet/tuba/guitar trio has emerged out of those holiday endeavors and begins a themed, Mondays-in-August residency that will feature plenty of guest spots and additional bands. (So far the theme nights include Jurassic Park, Something Horrible Happened at the Lab, and Time Travel — someone’s a comics fan!) Joining Molly J. (Mike Strauss Band) are trumpeter Matt Postle (Sunshone Still, Sea of Cortez) and guitarist Troy Conn (Bunky Moon, Ocie Davis Trio), as the trio plays standards and originals whose semi-trad heads are just a jump-off point for top-notch musicianship. You wouldn’t call it avant garde, but the trio does venture off the onion skins enough to add considerable spice throughout. If you follow music enough, you know that it’s these kind of semi-informal residencies that yield some of the most magic moments. Plus, you know, it’s free. 9 p.m. Snug Harbor.

ENGLAND IN 1819 Named after the sonnet by romantic poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, England in 1918 is the collaborative project of brothers Andrew and Dan Callaway and their father Liam. The latter honed his musical talents in the burgeoning Athens, Ga. New Wave scene of the late ’70s, and his father, William Callaway, toured the South as a musician during the post-WWII era. So, yeah, a deep musical gene pool, those Callaways — but, back to the present generation. The brothers Callaway grew up in the English countryside, playing in weekend rock bands with their old man, who taught overseas Air Force bands, and that experience clearly tagged along with them back to the U.S. Now based in Baton Rouge, La., the Callaway’s first full length was a home-spun effort whose music and title — Three Cheers for Bertie — betrayed their UK-philia. The new one, Alma, is a step forward sonically, a blend of proggy drama and twee introspection often unfurling in surges of orchestral crescendos. But too often, the mood tilts overdramatic, with Andrew’s Chris Martin-esque vocals and a reliance on atmosphere over hooks and melody as the main culprits. You wind up wishing the Callaways really would sound like England circa 1819, instead of Coldplay in 2005 and Genesis in 1976. With Ocean vs. Daughter, Meet the Sky and Charlotte Parrott. $6-$9. 9 p.m. Milestone.

AVA LUNA On a wave of angular R&B, fidgety percussion and cooing but slip-sliding harmonies come nervous soulsters Ava Luna, poster kids for “ADD is the new normal.” If you don’t like the way an Ava Luna song is going, just sit tight, because that shit is gonna change — and fast. The N.Y.C. quintet defies hookiness, pushing frontman Carlos Hernandez’s Prince-like falsetto to the front of dense, genre-bending compositions that owe as much to the late ’70s No Wave mutant disco of James White, Lizzy Mercier Descloux and Material as the pop smarts of Destiny’s Child. Ava Luna loves to twist and turn, but they avoid the whiplash jerkiness of neo-prog avant-gardists like Deerhoof by bracketing song segments with inventively arranged female harmonies that are as soothing as old-school soul and as willfully weird as anything by Dirty Projectors. At times, this sounds like a great big steaming pile of art, a glorious mess with nothing to hang onto. But give it a moment and it all starts to click. The sound you hear is your synapses popping. With Bo White. $5. 9 p.m. Snug Harbor.