OULIPO
This young Raleigh quintet named themselves after an experimental early-’60s writers group that included the novelists Georges Perec and Italo Calvino, who relied on constrained writing techniques to play with — and revitalize — the traditional format of the novel. (Perec’s Life, A User’s Manual, structured around a single moment in time, is the most famous example). It’s a stretch to suggest Oulipo have managed to do the same with music after just one EP. (Another is in the works, and the new “Tectonic” single is dubby-riffic!) The band’s particular constraints are that the members go to different colleges in the Carolinas and record on limited equipment — main-man Ryan Trauley’s recording technique consists of a camcorder microphone and video-editing production program. Whatever they’re doing, they should keep it up. They’re working the same polyrhythmic/tribal territory as bands like Yeasayer, Le Loup and Animal Collective. The five songs on Oulipo’s That Is What I Said (And I Dove Into the Water) blend some neat inspirations — J Dilla loops and beats, Caribou textures, Talking Heads structures — into a fresh sonic tableau that’s best when it stretches out from twitchy dance rhythms into hypnotic psychedelic territories. The results are remarkably mature for a debut and a lot more interesting than Animal Collective’s repetitive glo-stick shtick. Opening for Hail the Titans. $6-$9. July 25, 9 p.m. The Milestone, 3400 Tuckaseegee Road. 704-398-0472.

BENJI HUGHES
I was spinning my way through L.A. songstress Eleni Mandell’s new summer-rific record, I Can See the Future, the other day when, right there on track seven, plain as day, I heard the familiar husky voice of the locally based gentlemen whose Snug Harbor residency ends this evening. Mr. Hughes plays Lee Hazelwood to Ms. Mandell’s Nancy Sinatra on the rollicking Topanga Canyon twang track “Never Have to Fall In Love Again,” a “Me and Bobby McGee” love story, minus the harpoons. The song would fit snugly in Hughes’ own balladeering oeuvre, for, like Mandell’s songs, love, either coming or going, is always in the air in his narratives. Though his residency ends tonight, the good news is that there’s allegedly a follow-up to his 2008 album A Love Extreme somewhere in the pipeline. Of course, much of what Hughes does is shrouded in secrecy, wrapped in enigmas, sprinkled in spirits and often the stuff of myth-making. Still, here’s hoping... Free. July 25, 9 p.m. Snug Harbor, 1228 Gordon St. 704-333-9799.

JUSTIN TAYLOR
Guys with acoustic guitars are a dime a dozen. At their best, they’re unflinchingly honest and vulnerable. At their worst, they’re narcissistic and corny. South African-born singer-songwriter Justin Taylor seems to know this and keeps his sound raw and unproduced and his lyrics simple and genuine. With songs like “Cheesy Little Love Song,” it seems he doesn’t take himself too seriously, either. This show will give his music a mission, with proceeds going to benefit Second Helping, a small business that came out of local charity Changed Choices, which helps put formerly incarcerated women to work. Changed Choices staff member Melissa Mummert opens with original songs about the women she works with. The music may not be clever or cool, but it has a naked genuineness that is admirable and refreshing. $10. July 24, 8 p.m. The Evening Muse, 3227 N. Davidson St. 704-376-3737.

BREED FEST II What do Pit Bulls and heavy, abrasive bands have in common? Well, misunderstanding, more than anything. Some see a densely muscled dog with a massive block of a head and recoil in fear. Others have a similar reaction to the accelerated frenzy of rock bands like Dead in the Dirt, whose hellaciously good EP, Fear, crams 10 tracks into a dozen sweaty, pummeling minutes. But there’s no inherent aggression to either: Dead in the Dirt are vegan straight-edgers, and many other hardcore acts follow idealistic moral codes. And as for endemically aggressive dog breeds... hell, dogs act like their owners, from Pits to Pomeranians. A portion of the proceeds go to help the ASPCA fight breed-specific legislation, which discriminates against Pits as a rule, but also tends to ban Doberman Pinschers, Rottweilers, and even Huskies. The discriminated-against bands on this roster include Dreamend, Dead in the Dirt, Old Flings, Autarch, Old Wounds, Monarchist, Apart and Palefire. $10-$12. July 21, 6 p.m. Tremont Music Hall, 400 W. Tremont Ave. 704-343-9494.

MAZE Maze maestro and magus Frankie Beverly is tagged as keeper of the smooth-but-gritty Philly soul flame. In truth, his roots go deeper and wider. Beverly apprenticed in gospel and doo-wop, bypassing the ’70s City of Brotherly Love soulster factories that spawned the Stylistics, Delfonics, et al. Launching Maze under the tellingly descriptive moniker Raw Soul, his muse hews closer to acid jazz prophet Roy Ayers and the stylish R&B of Marvin Gaye. Gaye proved to be mentor as well as influence, a debt Beverly acknowledges with his signature tune “Silky Soul” which pays heartfelt tribute to Gaye and “What’s Going On.” Though his robust vocals recall the master, Beverly is no mere Gaye copyist. Maze is to the Motown visionary what a post-punk outfit like Gang of Four is to the Sex Pistols, a refinement that revels in its roots. Influences like the syncopated deep blues of Taj Mahal and the blistering funk of the Isley Brothers abound, but Maze never strays far from raw soul, eschewing the disco and hip-hop bandwagons embraced by contemporaries like Earth, Wind & Fire. The move may have cost Beverly a broader audience, but he proves that consistency needs not mean soul-sucking mediocrity. With Patti Labelle, The O’Jays, and Kenny 'Babyface’ Edmonds. $50-$145. July 21, 6 p.m. Verizon Wireless Amphitheatre, 707 Pavilion Blvd. 704-549-1292.

JD MCPHERSON On first listen, crooner and songwriter McPherson may sound vintage, but his mix of rockabilly, old-time rock and R&B, stitched with blues, is anything but dated. The slicked-back sound evokes Blasters and Gene Vincent, to be sure, but tracks like the Ray Charles-inspired “A Gentle Awakening” are lucid, moody and defy labeling McPherson as a “retro” rocker. McPherson’s obvious love for soulful rock is what makes it all work. The songs are hummable and danceable, the guitars sing, the pianos sway, and his voice accents the music with authentic charm. He even recorded his debut album, Signs & Signifiers, on vintage analog equipment. $12-$15. July 20, 8 p.m. Visulite Theatre, 1615 Elizabeth Ave. 704-358-9200.

ALAN EDWARDS If pressed for a Best Charlotte Songwriters’ list, the former Lou Ford and current Loudermilks co-leader would be at or near the top of mine (younger bro Chad would make it as well, but he’s apparently taking this night off). The elder Edwards’ strength has always been avoiding country rock’s clichés while remaining true to its tenets and slipping in a punk-inspired defiance; no surprise Lou Ford called it rural pop instead. Whatever you want to call them, his songs feel lived in, rather than put on, the sadness and anger genuinely cathartic. When he asked, lo all these years ago now, “How does it feel, to have something real?/To have something true, to know it belongs to you?” the longing was palpable enough in the music to give listeners the sense that this was their lot as well. Those songs don’t roll off the line as frequently as they used to, but the new ones suggest those qualities still exist. We’ll find out soon enough as the Loudermilks prepare their debut. Late show with Dirt Heavy. $5. 10:30 p.m. The Evening Muse.

SUMMERLAND TOUR Friends and colleagues have referred to this collection as the “Nights of the Living Dead” tour, “The Evil that MTV Wrought” tour, and “The ’90s One-Hit Wonder Parade.” And there’s fodder here aplenty for viewing this assembly with a jaundiced eye, because in the ’90s, thanks to the excesses of the idiots in charge, mediocrity was the music industry sin qua non and all these acts rode that to glory. Everclear had junkie-punk MTV hits from their sophomore record, Sparkle & Fade, prop them up for years and Marcy Playground just had “Sex & Candy” (turned out a lot of folks like those things, too). Sugar Ray turned “Fly” into an anchor job for Mark McGrath at Extra and the one guy in the Gin Blossoms who could apparently pen a hit was fired and then suicided, otherwise they’d have been the Goo Goo Dolls. Lit probably outsold them all, but I can’t remember a thing about ’em. There’s nothing here of critical historical import, in other words, just a few songs formulaic enough to earn heavy FM/MTV rotation. But should all that even matter? Some folks simply want to remember the good times they had listening to this harmless piffle when they were young and the future was still an unwritten book. Why begrudge them — or the artists cashing in on it? Lighten up, Frances! $25-$45. 7 p.m. Time Warner Cable Uptown Amphitheatre.

SARA WATKINS On her second solo album, Sun Midnight Sun, Watkins expands her sunny West Coast folk and Americana into a moodier mix of country, Celtic, bluegrass and pop. The outing may not be as straight roots-leaning as her work with her former band Nickel Creek, but she continues her adept explorations on guitar and fiddle, caressing the strings or spewing toe-tapping energy as the song beckons. Watkins’ versatility, honed over the past decade of writing and performing with a diverse crowd of music makers, and lifted by her sweetly haunting voice, clearly gives her staying power. Opening for Jackson Browne. $49.50-$84.50. 8 p.m. Belk Theater.

OLD SOUTHERN MOONSHINE REVIVAL Old Southern Moonshine Revival is pop-country and nothing but, yet there’s not all that much Nashville to the band’s sound. It’s like the difference between Rascal Flatts’ inhumanly slick cover of “Life is a Highway” and the dusty jangle of Tom Cochrane’s original. While each version was a massive hit in its time, there’s more dignity — and longevity — in the second approach. And like Cochrane — as well as other early-’90s rock-country hybrids — Old Southern Moonshine Revival’s instrumentation is spacious and welcoming, an appropriate complement for alternatingly bittersweet and celebratory explorations of southern life. Though lyrical clichés may be endemic to pop-country — okay, so they are — they don’t seem so bad in the hands of a capable band. $8. 10:30 p.m. The Evening Muse.