BALSA GLIDERS What’s the big deal about a group of wannabe indie rockers who moonlight as, you know, doctors, lawyers, bankers, priests, academics — lowlife like that? They’re a dime a dozen, right? But the Balsa Gliders are different. These dudes could jangle the socks off my primary physician any day of the week. Seriously, music may be a sideline for this band of well-paid professionals from Charlotte, Raleigh and other N.C. hotspots, but they’re not just fratboys who made good and now crank out covers of “Free Bird” in a south Charlotte mega-garage. The Gliders — who formed in 1998 when future lawyer Charles Marshall and future PhD Russ Tisinger were still college boys — rock the indie spirit of Guided By Voices under the influence of the Silos. Best of all are the song titles: “In Defense of Air Conditioning” is an acoustic-based ditty that sounds like GBV unplugged with Michael Stipe-esque articulation, and the delicate “Cable Comes to Kinston” is a favorite among, well... Kinston natives. But this is no joke, folk. The Gliders have been dropping albums and EPs since 2009, their latest being last year’s Photographic Friends, all available on iTunes. $7-$10. 8:30 p.m. Visulite Theatre.

TORCH RUNNER From the outset, Greensboro’s Torch Runner seems like a high-test crust-metal band. Yet the pummeling assaults, which lay the groundwork for a rusty-nails vocal approach, give way to slow, noisy breaks. Some of these inhabit sludgy, down-tuned riff-worship, while others wield sharp industrial angles or follow the solemn march of plodding deep-forest doom. Yet with these, there’s room to breathe and, ultimately, to appreciate the sheer frenzy of the fast parts. Rather than draw from a single heavy style, Torch Runner’s expanded palette makes for a fascinating journey through punk, metal, and hardcore — one that gives and gives. With Full of Hell, Nailbiter, Towering Pyre, and Veda Woolf. $6-$9. 9 p.m. The Milestone.

JOHNNY WINTER Albino blues brothers Johnny and Edgar Winter made a lot of noise in the 1970s. Edgar is still remembered for boomer radio staples “Free Ride” and “Frankenstein,” but his guitar-slinging sibling Johnny has had the staying power. In his roller-coaster career, he’s played with his idols Willie Dixon and Muddy Waters, while having songs penned for him by luminaries like John Lennon and Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Once pegged to pick up Jimi Hendrix’s psych-blues mantle, Winter’s never been as acid infused as the Voodoo Chile. Instead, his spirit stays close to the boozy brawling Texas barrooms where he honed his chops, and his high, exquisite slide is still raw, ragged and funky — more bonded bourbon than, say, the sweet tea of Derek Trucks. The big miracle is that this living legend is, well, living. Fucked up on drugs and fucked over by a Machiavellian manager, Winter is clean today but frail. When Johnny Guitar hobbles onstage, broken in body, to play seated, the music still soars, but it reminds us that even indestructible rockers like Johnny Winter have a due date. Or as Dee Dee Ramone’s headstone says: “O.K... I gotta go now.” With Sonny Moorman. $26. July 13, 8 p.m. Neighborhood Theatre.

ROGER WATERS Pink Floyd did not start to suck when "Crazy Diamond" Syd Barret left the building. Nor did the psychedelic-hued maestros lose their mojo when they hit commercial pay dirt with Dark Side of the Moon. No, Floyd dropped the ball when they hit The Wall - Roger Waters' mighty, misogynistic and narcissistic paean to stunted emotional growth. Now, Waters takes this edifice to crawling up your own ass on tour, complete with 12-piece ensemble and state-of-the-art special effects. You can't blame the guy. His subsequent Floyd album, not to mention solo career, yielded barely one memorable melody ("Radio Waves on Radio K.A.O.S.") and his ego stroking opera Ça Ira was a creative stiff. So what recognizable songs can he play for the punters? The problem is that The Wall's double LP contains only an EP's worth of killer songs. And those tent poles aren't enough to support Waters' bloated, overproduced monstrosity. To be fair, Waters has disavowed some of The Wall's more self-serving and repulsive lyrics, but under scrutiny this rock monument crumbles like Ozymandias. Look on it and despair. $77-$201. 8 p.m. Time Warner Cable Arena.

THE VIGNETTES These Memphis gals are so talented, they've played blindfolded. They also put out some of the most solid punk since the '90s riot grrl heyday. With only a drum and guitar, the duo (Francis and Freddi Vignette) creates bare-bones, driving rock that goes straight for the jugular. Francis usually takes care of the outrageous wails and guitar shredding, while Freddie holds it down on the drums. Together, they create sharp, fast songs like "Comic Book Heroes" and heavier jams like "The Zoo." These scrappy girls self-manage, self-release and refuse to be judged for their sex appeal only. Poly Styrene, rest her soul, would be proud. $6. 9 p.m. The Milestone.

ESTRANGERS In my dream, an ozone sky sucks the color from the seaside until it looks like a faded, hand-painted postcard. The beach is deserted, except for a distant gazebo where a clean-cut 1950s couple slow dances. And Estrangers provide the soundtrack. The lo-fi Winston-Salem sextet delivers dreamy/creepy fuzz-pop with yearning broken-hearted vocals. Boasting a gauzy sound that recalls the third, eponymous Velvet Underground LP, Estrangers evoke the pristine chamber pop of The Zombies and the wistful melodies of '50s crooner Ricky Nelson. Dual guitars add Jesus and Mary Chain bursts of over-modulated squall, augmented by a pair of jaunty-but-eerie Carnival of Souls keyboards and driving Dave Clark Five drums. It's fun but slightly queasy, like stumbling upon a sock-hop hosted by David Lynch, complete with free nitrous oxide for all. Along with Charleston's Company, Estrangers fill the bill for the indie pop soirée Shuffle Party, courtesy of Shuffle Magazine. Shuffle's staff and contributors include CL's John Schacht and Corbie Hill. $5-$7. 9 p.m. Visulite Theatre.

DWELE How this Detroit native manages to fly under the radar is baffling. After catching the ear of the legendary (and legendarily creative) hip-hop producer J Dilla and collaborating with Dilla's group Slum Village on 2002's Tainted, Dwele went on to solidify himself in the neo-soul pantheon, releasing four solo albums since 2003. In recent years, the singer/producer has made appearances on high-profile projects like Kanye West's "Flashing Lights" and "Power," but it hasn't necessarily garnered Dwele the recognition you'd expect from features that big. Which may be good news for his longtime fans, who won't have to battle the masses to catch Dwele perform his hip-hop-tinged vintage soul. With WAR, The Whispers, Zapp, Chrisette Michelle, Angela Winbush and Ginuwine at the 3rd Annual Soul Food Festival. $25-$60. 5 p.m. Uptown Charlotte, corner of 9th Street and Brevard Street.

GIRL POWER ROCK FEST The Charlotte chapter of the National Organization for Women (NOW) is celebrating its 40th anniversary, and the Girl Power Rock Fest - in its third year - is part of the festivities. The rock comes after documentaries and NOW info sessions. Yet, for all the revolutionary potential of this setup, there's precious little riot to the grrls on this bill (you probably won't hear anything along the lines of Bikini Kill's "Don't Need You"). In fact, with so many dudes in these bands - though not in singing roles - these shows ostensibly seem to be more about gender equality than girl power. Straightforward local rockers Grown Up Avenger Stuff and Shot Silk play Chop Shop's main stage. Danielle Engle of bluesy swoon-rockers The Between and jazz-folkie Devon Elizabeth play outside, while there's mid-'00s-reminiscent indie pop and lounge funk courtesy of The Local Traumatic and Chasing Pedestrians, respectively, at Evening Muse. Free. 8 p.m. Evening Muse. Chop Shop.

PEEWEE MOORE AND THE AWFUL DREADFUL SNAKES Outlaw country has seen better days. Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings are now dead, and Hank III's all inked up, playing punk-metal and snorting God-knows-what with Jesco White. Is it too much to ask for a clean-cut cowboy in a Western shirt to sing some songs about truck drivin' and 'shine? Fortunately for fans of honky tonk and old-school country, we have Peewee Moore and the Awful Dreadful Snakes. Tennessean Moore, son of a truck driver, is a dyed-in-the-wool country boy with a reassuring twang and a soft spot for the outlaw heroes. Ever under the shade of his cowboy hat, he frequents biker rallies, Johnny Cash festivals and other holdouts of a bygone era, working to keep the tradition he loves alive. And while he lacks the charisma and songwriting chops of his idols, Moore does the tradition proud with simple, well-executed songs about the lives and ways of country folk. $5. 8 p.m. Puckett's Farm Equipment.

SADGIQACEA Hey, can you pronounce that name? We couldn't, either. Here's a little phonetic helper: sad-juh-kay-sha. Soothing, innit? There are times when sludgy, harsh and slow metal guitars can actually soothe the nerves, too. And on occasion, this Philly outfit pulls it off. The combo's got the stoner-rock groove down, and it muddies things up a bit with detuned guitars and dual vocalists. The result is unnerving and serene, sometimes in the same song, with guitars that pounce, slow down, go psychedelic, then proceed with the requisite barrage. If you get past the repetition, the tracks expand nicely. Recommended if you like Torche, Mastodon or High on Fire. Also on the bill: Hivelords and Pig Mountain. $7-$9. 9 p.m. The Milestone.