New York Music Daily

Global Music With a New York Edge

Tag: power pop

Intense, Purist, Catchy Tunesmithing and Devastating Wit from Elisa Peimer

Singer/keyboardist Elisa Peimer is a lot smarter, and edgier, and funnier than your typical folk-pop songwriter. She has a distinctive, soul-infused, slightly throaty delivery, has a way with a classic pop hook and also a devastating wit. When her lyrics aren’t uproariously amusing, they’re a lot more subtle. Case in point: Better, the big, Celtic-flavored 6/8 ballad that opens her new album Inside the Glass, streaming at her webpage. It’s not a typical kiss-off song: instead of chronicling a list of misdeeds, Peimer puts a positive spin on an otherwise gloomy storyline. Will the girl in the narrative realize that she can do better than the guy she’s with, who’s always got one eye on whoever’s coming through the front door of the bar? No spoilers here. Peimer and her excellent band – whose core is Paul Cabri on guitars, Irwin Menken on bass and John Clancy on drums – are playing the album release show on June 12 at 6 (six) PM at First Acoustics Coffeehouse in the basement of First Unitarian Church, 50 Monroe Pl. at Pierrepont St. in downtown Brooklyn. Take any train to Borough Hall; cover is $10 and includes yummy vegetarian food.

The funniest song on the album is titled Good Song. Anyone in the arts can relate to this one – see, the girl in the story used to write one great tune after another until she finally got into a good relationship with a guy. Now she’s happy…but she’s miserable all the same since all her new songs are trite and cheesy. The last verse is priceless. Bad relationships: the gift that keeps on giving!

The band blazes through stomping, new wave-inspired powerpop in the bittersweet Good for You, a dead ringer for vintage early 80s Motels. Bobby Hollywood, another Celtic anthem, is Peimer at her crushingly sardonic best. In a couple of tersely crafted verses and a chorus, she nails the pathology of the kind of gentrifier narcissists who frequent places like the Union Square greenmarket:

I was buying Brooklyn pickles
Made by a hipster out in Queens
Surrounded by my neighbors
In their hundred dollar jeans
But the one that caught my eye
Was the one that didn’t care
About the cooking demonstration
‘Cause Bobby Hollywood died right there
..But the teller of the story
Seemed to vanish in the crowd
Lost in trucker hats and strollers
Of the financially endowed…

Aloft with pilllowy strings, the parlor pop ballad Poetry is a lot more enigmatic – until the ending, which is way too good to give away. Hint: this song is MEAN! The band gets electric again on It’s All Right, a mashup of Rolling Thunder Revue Dylan and more recent folk-pop. Then Peimer switches to guitar for the delicously jangly, uneasly anthemic Can’t Make Me Stop Loving You.

She paints a guardedly hopeful late-winter tableau in Daffodils, then follows that with a considerably more morose, angst-infused parlor-pop ballad, What Would He Say. The album winds up with the towering, overcast art-rock anthem This Life. Another first-class release from a member of the Brooklyn-based Chicks with Dip songwriters’ collective, whose members include Aimee Van Dyne, Sharon Goldman, Carolann Solebello and several other cult favorite songsmiths..

Another Hauntingly Lyrical, Richly Jangly Masterpiece from Son of Skooshny

From 1978 until the band more or less dissolved somewhere around the late 90s – yet released a final single just this year – guitarist/songwriter Mark Breyer fronted Skooshny. The jangly powerpop trio still enjoys a cult following. Sort of the missing link between the Church, Cheap Trick and Elvis Costello, they played a single live show: an Arthur Lee benefit. As cred goes, it doesn’t get any better than that.

Since the group disbanded (but hey, we can always hope), Breyer has soldiered on as Son of Skooshny. And his songwriting, always packed with clever puns, multiple levels of meaning and an incessant angst, has never been better. With arrangements and spectacular multi-instrumentation from producer Steve Refling, Son of Skooshny’s catchy, anthemic latest album, the sardonically titled Confection, is streaming at Bandcamp.

Breyer claims to be technologically inept but he has a handle on marketing, releasing most of the album as singles over the past few months. Several of these have been featured on this page as they appeared, There’s Cloud Cover, “a wistful, dreamily uneasy transcontinental flight scenario. Just a Test is even better, a backbeat stomp that’s one of the funniest songs Breyer’s ever written…and then it gets dark. Refling turns in some of his finest work as a one-man version of the Church.”

No Ho “paints a gently devastating portrait of existential angst and understated despair, a couple doomed from the start traipsing their way through a vivid LA milieu. And the title could be as savage for the girl as the narrator’s prospects are bleak.”

Half of the World is Breyer at his sardonic, metaphorically-loaded best, opening this lushly swaying 70s folk-pop gem through the eyes of a guy trying to focus as the snow swirls around his eyes: Then,

Even this drunkard who chants between sips
And tries to keep the Lord’s name on his lips
Will surely move on and progress
When the mannequin changes its dress
It can see more than half of the world

As good as these tracks are, they pale next to The Subtle Eye. It’s one of best songs to come over the transom here in the past few years, never mind months, one of those 4 AM repeat-button numbers (in context: Matthew Grimm’s suicide narrative West Allis; Marianne Dissard’s drained and depleted Am Letzen; Karla Rose’s grimly defiant Time Well Spent).

Refling’s trebly accordion sheen belies a sadness that will rip your heart out. This is about dead people appearing in dreams – and it’s a wish song. Long-gone parents make fleetingly ominous appearances; a beloved canine comes to the rescue. That Breyer doesn’t completely rule out a happy ending is almost crueler than if he’d just wrapped it up on a depressing note: be careful what you wish for since you might not get it. It capsulizes his worldview, resolutely dreaming his way through every stop sign. Watch for this on the best albums of 2016 page if we get that far.

Above the Moon Transcend an Awful Sound Mix to Play a Deliciously Catchy Friday Night Show

You would think that a sound guy would relish the opportunity to mix a set by twin-guitar rockers Above the Moon, considering how catchy, and interesting, and texturally delicious their songs are. And then there’s the matter of the lustre, and puwer, and nuance of frontwoman/guitarist Kate Griffin’s exquisite voice. What did the sound guy at Leftfied do last Friday night when somebody in the crowd asked for more vocals? Did he tweak a couple of inputs, maybe, lower the drums or the guitars a tad? Nope.

He took her vocals out of the mix. Just when you think you’ve seen it all, right? At least you’ll be able to hear her when the band plays an extremely rare acoustic set at 9:30 PM tomorrow night, May 25 at the Bitter End, where the Aquarian – sort of the across-the-Hudson counterpart to the Village Voice – has been staging nights of bands fron their home state. Cover is $10.

Last Friday, only in the quietest moments was that spun-crystal voice audible, and then only through the stage monitors. So for all intents and purposes, the band played an instrumental set. Although Griffin’s vocals are probably what everybody in the crowd came to hear, to the band’s credit, they held their own as an instrumental unit, testament to how memorable their tunesemithing is. The subtle upper-midrange distinctions between Griffin’s Telecaster – which she often ran through what sounded like an old analog chorus pedal for an expecially tasty, deep-space jangle – and lead guitarist James Harrison’s Strat, which he played using a wah for all sorts of subtle and dramatic oscillations – were front and center throughout the show. Bassist Shawn Murphy played bitingly tuneful, catchy lines high up the fretboard, Peter Hook style, often serving as a second lead guitar. Powerhouse drummer John Gramuglia built drama when he wasn’t swinging the midtempo stuff by the tail, or providing a punchy postpunk pulse.

Some of the material followed what would become a famiiar and very effective pattern, a tensely enigmatic verse into a big, clanging, triumphant payoff on the chorus. A couple of other numbers took that idea and flipped the script. On one hand, there were echoes of the jaggedly minimalistic insistence of 90s bands like Versus, and the occasional oblique swipe from Harrison back toward  vintage Sonic Youth or Shellac. On the other hand, there was always a hummable tune somewhere, whether in the big buildup to a chorus, or the melancholy twang of the midtempo number toward the end of the set that proved to be the night’s high point. On one hand, taking Griffin out of the mix was criminal, like hitting the mute during a Prince guitar solo. On the other, Above the Moon turned into a great instrumental band – for one show and one show only, let’s hope.

Dada Paradox Pick Up Where the Wickedly Catchy, Lyrically Brilliant Larch Left Off

In recent years at least, it’s hard to imagine a more productive rock music couple than Ian and Liza Roure. As the brain trust of both the Larch and Liza & the WonderWheels, they made a mark as purveyors of hook-driven, lyrically sharp Elvis Costello-ish tunesmithing and acerbically catchy psychedelia, respectively. When both bands imploded, the Wheels morphed into Tracy Island – fronted by Liza, on guitar – and the Larch became Dada Paradox, fronted by Ian on a multitude of guitars, bass and percussion, with Liza on keys. Dada Paradox picks right up where the Larch left off with 2014’s In Transit without missing a beat. The new album, Mobile Flight – streaming at the band’s webpage – has some of the most memorable songwriting released this year, and the duo will bring it to the stage at the release show on May 25 at 8 PM at Bowery Electric. Low-key psychedelic crew Psychic Lines open the night at 7; cover is $10.

The anthemically crescendoing opening track, Find Ways to Matter traces an uneasily metaphorical space travel narrative over a tasty bed of judiciously multitracked guitar textures: the interweave between the acoustic, the electrics and the twelve-string is intricate and Byrdsy to the point where it’s hard to tell which is playing what. Light hand percussion rather than a full drumkit has the paradoxical effect of directing attention to Roure’s lattice of fretwork, adding a low-key bedroom pop charm.

The twelve-string also takes centerstage over twinkling electric piano on the first of a handful of miniatures here, the wistful, gently nocturnally-tinged Here Comes Another Day. From there the duo segue into the album’s catchiest and also most nonchalantly ominous track, the tropically-tinged Another Day in Paradise. It’s Squeeze’s Pulling Mussels without the one-note guitar solo, updated for the teens with a backdrop of global warming.

The resolute, propulsive Happy Families, another track from the late Larch days, looks back to vintage, offhandedly savage Armed Forces-era Costello with its sardonic portrait of Mr. and Mrs. Executive doing a number on each other while trying to keep up appearances. Spooky Action surrealistically explores an eerie sci-fi action-at-a-distance scenario over a stately Britfolk waltz, Ian’s recorder and Liza’s ghost-girl vocal harmonies ramping up the mysterioso ambience.

A gentle baroque keyboard interlude leads into the wryly sarcastic character study Inflexible Flyer, Ray Davies channeled through the prism of peak-era, mid-90s Blur. For those who don’t get the joke, the Flexible Flyer was a popular kids’ snow sled back in the 60s and 70s. There are a couple of folk-flavored tracks here –  The Far Side of the Fray has a deadpan savagery in the same vein as Roger Waters’ The Bravery of Being Out of Range, while The Apocalypse Cheering Committee is as cynically funny as you would expect from this crew.

There’s also Solar Birds, aloft on a keening slide guitar line with an early 70s pastoral Pink Floyd feel, and the album’s majestically jangly closing escape anthem, Sorrows of Stephen: “The sorrow suffocates, to draw a free breath seems like it’s worth the risk that you take,” Ian encourages. A good fifteen-plus years since the Larch started ripping it up in scruffy dives all over Brooklyn, it’s good to see the Roures arguably at the peak of their career as players and songwriters. Count this among the half-dozen best releases to come out of New York this year.

A Clinic in Purist Guitar Rock from Eric Ambel and Esquela

“Who needs pedals?” Eric “Roscoe” Ambel asked the party people in the house at a private event at Bowery Electric last week. His pedalboard was acting up, so he pulled the plug on it. Running straight through his amp, switching between a vintage black Les Paul and his signature Roscoe Deluxe Tele model by Stonetree Custom Guitars, Ambel put on a clinic in lead guitar, playing a mix of old favorites and material from his new gatefold vinyl album, Lakeside. Behind the guitar icon and head honcho of the late, great Lakeside Lounge were Brett Bass on bass, Phil Cimino on drums and Spanking Charlene‘s Mo Goldner taking on a Keith Richards role on second guitar. They kicked off hard with Song from the Walls, the angry, acidic riff-rock opening track on Ambel’s 1995 Loud and Lonesome album.

It’s amazing how few notes Ambel uses, considering what kind of chops the guy has. Everything counts for something: the lingering bends on the simmering, amped-up Jimmy Reed groove of Here Come My Love; the gritty, enveloping roar of the anti-trendoid broadside Hey Mr. DJ; the sunspotted, precise blues bite of Don’t Make Me Break You Down. Spanking Charlene frontwoman Charlene McPherson lent her powerful pipes to the vocal harmonies on Have Mercy, a soul-infused number that she wrote with Ambel. They sent a shout-out to the Ramones with Massive Confusion, then chilled out with Gillian Welch’s Miss Ohio. Ambel’s playing the album release show on April 29 at around 8:30 PM at Berlin (in the basement under 2A). He’s doing double duty that night: after his set, he’a adding “power assist guitar” with the ferociously funny Spanking Charlene.

The opening act, Esquela – whose album Canis Majoris Ambel recently produced – were excellent too. They work a country-oriented side of paisley underground twang and clang. The push-pull of the two guitarists, Brian Shafer’s snaky, sinuous leads against Matt Woodin’s punchy, uneasily propulsive drive had an intensity similar to great 80s bands like True West and Steve Wynn‘s Dream Syndicate. They also hit hard with their opener, Too Big to Fail (as in, “too rich for jail”), frontwoman Becca Frame’s big, wounded wail soaring over the twin-guitar attack and the four-on-the-floor drive from the band’s main songwriter, bassist John “Chico” Finn and drummer Todd Russell.

From there they hit a wry Del Shanon doo-wop rock groove with It Didn’t Take, went into stomping mid-70s Lou Reed territory and then rousing Celtic rock with Need Not Apply, a snarling look back at anti-Irish racisim across the ages. Their best song was a bittersweetly swaying dead ringer for mid-80s True West, but with better vocals and a careening, shoulder-dusting Shafer solo. Or it might have been an echoey psychedelic number that they suddenly took warpspeed at the end. They brought up harmony singer Allyson Wilson, whose soulful intensity was every bit the match for Frame’s – which made sense, considering that she usually can be found singing opera and classical repertoire at places like Carnegie Hall. Her most spine-tinging moment was when she tackled the Merry Clayton role on a slinky cover of Gimme Shelter.

The band closed with Freebird, a sardonically funny, Stonesy original that Finn wrote to satisfy all the yahoos who scream for it. Perennially popular indie powerpop road warriors the Figgs – who haven’t lost a step in twenty years – were next on the bill. Which was where the whiskey really started to kick in – this was a party, after all. Sorry, guys – for a look at what they sound like onstage, here’s a snarky piece from Colossal Musical Joke week, 2012.

Mimi Oz Brings Her Kitchen-Sink Songwriting Prowess to the East Village Saturday Night

Mimi Oz can write anything. She’s got a powerful, passionate, slightly coy voice informed by soul, 60s pop, Americana and punk. Likewise, her songwriting runs the gamut, and she’s a strong tunesmith. Her latest album Men Who Never Loved Me – a sardonically melancholy, thematic collection – is streaming at Bandcamp. She’s playing Saturday night, April 16 at 11 PM at Sidewalk with her band.

You might think that a song with the title Tickle My Berry would be something that, say, Iggy Azalea might do. This one turns out to be a summery psych-funk number that hits a burning powerpop drive on the chorus. Bad Love is a wryly hilarious faux girl-group pop number about being stuck with a losers like this one dude who’s “bad at kissing, he doesn’t use his tongue.” It’s sort of the missing link between the Universal Thump and the Ronettes.

The wounded waltz Dreaming Again blends stark country fiddle into a soaring new wave-tinged ballad. Future Trouble is spot-on 60s C&W, right down to the chicken-scratch honkytonk guitar and call-and-response, gospel-style backing vocals; then Oz takes it in more of a powerpop direction. She keeps the honkytonk flavor going, mashing it up with 60s pop in the romping, piano-driven, twisted Ugly Baby.

Neptune Hotel is a swaying soul-jazz number with muted trumpet and low-key, simmering vocals that grows more uneasily surreal as it builds. Alphabet City Gypsy, with its swirly organ and oldschool R&B bounce, puts a funny East Village spin on a theme familiar to fans of Elvis and the blues.

Be My Bobby is another bouncy piano number: like a lot of songs here, it’s a disquieting mix of sultry seduction, longing ache and crushingly cynical, punk-infused humor. The album’s best song is the rainy-day saloon jazz ballad Woman Perfect, balmy sax mingling with the piano and the stately, swinging rhythm section. The final cut is the bossa nova Somebody’s Nobody, sung in English and Portuguese. As eclectic, imaginatively purist songwiting goes, it doesn’t get much better than this in 2016.

7horse Bring Their LMAO Stoner Vibe and Catchy, Heavy Sounds to Bowery Electric

7horse play party music that’s not stupid. You might know them from their huge youtube hit, A Friend in Weed. The LA duo have an irrepressible, sardonic sense of humor and a much bigger sound than you’d expect from just a two-piece: big, burning, distorted guitars and an equally epic drum sound. Phil Leavitt sings with a brash but honest, unaffected delivery; guitarist Joie Calio layers his tracks for stadium heft and bulk. Their latest album Living in a Bitch of a World isn’t out yet, but they’ll be playing plenty of it at their show at 9 PM on April 15 at Bowery Electric. Cover is $10

It opens with the title track, a catchy, cynical midtempo number that’s part Dolls, part mid-70s Lou Reed: “Spending quality time with people I hate,” Leavitt complains. Two Stroke Machine – a motorcycle reference – has a four-on-the-floor Mellencamp thump and tasty layers of jangly Rickenbacker guitar, a wry tale about the hard life of a smalltime weed dealer.

The funniest track is their cover of the BeeGees’ Stayin’ Alive, reinvented as a stoner boogie. What might be funniest is that you can actually understand the lyrics, which are pretty awful. Leavitt stays down in his range rather than reaching for Barry Gibb’s helium highs. Dutch Treat isn’t as successful: the joke of a couple of white dudes doing a halfhearted spoof of putrid corporate hip-hop wears thin fast.

One Week is another boogie, a teens update on ZZ Top. 400 Miles from Flagstaff brings back the meat-and-potatoes highway rock, followed by the Stonesy, slide guitar-fueled Liver Damage Victims. Then they go back to heavy-lidded boogie with Answer the Bell: “The light in your eyes is making you sick,” Leavitt bellows knowingly.

Stick to the Myth is a real surprise, a brooding, minor-key kiss-off anthem, and it’s the best song on the album. They keep the low-key simmer going with Drift, a slow, pensive 6/8 stoner blues. The album winds up with She’s So Rock n Roll, an irresistibly spot-on parody of early 70s glam. For now, til the new record’s out, you can get a full-length immersion in what they sound like with their more roughhewn, gutter blues-oriented previous album, Songs for a Voodoo Wedding, streaming at Spotify.

Above the Moon Bring Their Edgy Intensity to a Jersey City Triplebill Friday Night

This Friday, March 11 starting at 8 there’s a solid bill of three female-fronted acts at the Citizen, 332 2nd St. in Jersey City, about six blocks from the Grove St. Path station. The opening band, Pepperwine, works a sassy saloon blues vibe. Headliner Debra Devi, one of the most exhilarating and bluesily purist lead guitarists in psychedelic rock, plays a rare solo set.. In between there’s Above the Moon. who have an edgy, very 90s sound, blending noisy indie rock and propulsive powerpop in the same vein as Versus. Frontwoman/guitarist Kate Griffin has an edge in her voice that brings to mind Fontaine Toups and Ursa Minor‘s Michelle Casillas, although Above the Moon have a heavier sound, with their two guitars.

Their debut ep is up at Bandcamp as a free download. The opening track, Coat, has Griffin and lead player James Harrison’s guitars punching at each other up to the big, catchy chorus where they join forces. It’s an escape anthem of sorts: “It’s so warm I’ll leave my coat behind, for someone else to find, I won’t need it anymore,” Griffin asserts.

Bassist Shawn Murphy and drummer John Gramuglia give Easy a brisk groove that anchors it rather than letting it drift into skittish Strokes territory. Out of the Woods,with its burning, multitracked downstroke guitars and Griffin’s calmly warm vocals, is the closest thing to Versus here;  The final cut is a kiss-off number, Loving & Leaving, Griffin clear and resolute over a web of stabbing, bellicose minor-key guitar.

These songs have a sense of defiance and optimism despite it all. Blast this on your way home from work or school and feel good about yourself again. Discovering bands like Above the Moon makes all the drudge work of a music blog worth the effort.

Marianne Dissard’s Cibola Gold Distills Some of Her Most Shattering Songs

More than anything else, French singer Marianne Dissard’s new greatest-hits collection, Cibola Gold – streaming at Bandcamp – is all about solace. Betrayal, disappointment and fullscale heartbreak are frequent themes, and for anyone who’s suffered any of that (hasn’t everyone?), Dissard feels your pain. It’s a potently plaintive playlist for cold nights at 3 AM when there’s only a single glass left in the magnum and the ghosts on the perimeter are closing in.

It opens with a funny song and closes with a harrowing one. In between, it documents the career of one of the world’s most consistently compelling songwriters since 2008. She started out looking back toward new wave, then went deep into desert rock. Since then, Dissard has been just as eclectic, ranging from the towering, angst-driven art-rock of her 2014 masterpiece The Cat. Not Me, to the stripped-down noir of last year’s live-in-the-studio release, Cologne-Vier Takes. Beyond the thirteen newly remastered tracks, the album comes with a lavish, full-color booklet documenting Dissard’s well-documented travels, from her native country to the Arizona desert  – where she famously collaborated with Giant Sand and Sergio Mendoza – and eventually full circle.

Like Balkan singer Eva Salina, recently covered here, Dissard’s vocals transcend the limits of language. While her lyrics, mostly in French, are full of double entendres and clever wordplay, her powers of expression are such that anyone can get the gist if not the complete picture of where she’s coming from, emotionally speaking. For example, her coyly deadpan delivery on the scampering Django jazz-flavored Les Draps Sourds. In French, “sourd” means “deaf,” but it also means “hammered,” as in having had too much bordeaux. So the tale of the two lovers beneath the sheets, interrupted, takes on new dimensions, whether or not you speak French.

The One and Only, with its insistent, echoey Rhodes piano and purist blend of soul and blues, sends a joyously breathy shout-out to Dissard’s old Tucson stomping ground. She takes an animatedly anguished approach to the ache and abandonment of Election over an insistently pulsing piano-pop arrangement. Cayenne refers not to the quasi-narcotic qualities of capsicum but to its lingering burn, and all that it represents, Dissard’s mutedly wounded contralto mingling with a gently pointillistic, Chelsea Girl-style acoustic backdrop. The metaphorically-loaded images of the swaying folk-rock of Les Confettis are much the same.

With La Tortue (The Turtle), the door opens wide and the darkness, always hinted at, pours in, with more than a hint of hip-hop in Dissard’s half-spoken nightmare imagery over waves of strings and incisive neoromantic piano. The whisperingly conspiratorial ranchera art-rock of Almas Perversas (Perverse Souls) is more allusively troubled. Then Dissard offers a mysteriously seductive groove with the sunbaked Booker T psych-soul groove of Trop Expres (rough translation: Too Obvious).

Pomme (The Apple) expands on the William Tell fable, chamber-pop gospel as Roger Waters might do it, with an irresistible woodwind chart and similarly tasty piano. La Peau Du Lait (Porcelain Skin) blends new wave bounce and dancing echoes of vintage vaudevillian chanson, with one of Dissard’s trademark clever rhyme schemes. Likewise, It’s Love, a mashup of new wave and angst-tinged artsy pop: Botanica in a rare, lighter moment comes to mind.

Un Gros Chat (Fat Cat), more or less the centerpiece of The Cat. Not Me is a chilling art-rock anthem, again bringing to mind Botanica as well as Aladdin Sane-era Bowie, with a rare verse or two in English from Dissard. The album ends with the whispery, elegaic Am Letzen, a shatteringly wintry depiction of wee-hours emotional destitution on the final morning of the year. Everybody else is probably getting stoked for the evening’s festivities: Dissard’s drained, despondent narrator only leaves the apartment so she can come back to it.

This album fits with Dissard’s current retrospective mode: when she isn’t touring, she’s back in France, with a memoir in the works. From an oldschool media perspective, albums of previously released material aren’t typically included among critics’ picks of the year’s best releases, but if there’s any one that deserves to be an exception, this is it. Pour that last glass, stare down the demons and let Dissard’s wise, knowing murmur pull you off the ledge.

Erudite, Cleverly Catchy Rockers Regular Einstein Open a Great Bill at Cake Shop on the 24th

Regular Einstein are the kind of band whose albums you listen to for the lyrics. Frontwoman Paula Carino can’t resist a double entendre or a hilariously snarky pun, as you might expect from a band with such a sarcastic name: these people aren’t dummies. You can’t help but wonder how many fans of, say, the Joy Formidable or for that matter the Pretenders or the Distillers would put Regular Einstein in rotation if they knew the band existed. And as good as their lyrics are, they’re the kind of act you go see live because of the tunes…and for Carino’s coolly modulated, plush vocals. They’re opening an excellent night of music on February 20 at 8 PM at Cake Shop, with the amazingly eclectic, kinetically psychedelic, occasionally haunting Sometime Boys headlining at 10.

The last time this blog caught Regular Einstein in action, they were at Rock Shop the last time the Mets won a game, opening for another brilliantly lyrical band, Lazy Lions. Onstage, they have an enigmatically scruffy look that goes back to their late 90s origins. Drummer Nancy Polstein, probably the most eclectic of the bunch, can play anything and has: Britfolk, garage rock and Americana, among other styles. Likewise, lead guitarist Dave Benjoya, whose credits span from punk to Middle Eastern and Balkan-influenced sounds. Bassist Andy Mattina comes out of a jamband background, while Carino, the youngest of the bunch, draws on punk and new wave but also indie rock.

This time out was a loud, hard-hitting show, Carino stage left rather than front and center, projecting with more vocal power and bite than usual. Benjoya had centerstage and made the most of it, with a gritty roar and lead lines that wove and dipped between no wave skronk, slashing bluesy licks and ominous chromatics over Polstein’s elegant tumble and drive and Mattina’s growling, gravel-toned riffage, like a second lead guitarist rising from the lower depths.

One of the highlights of the show was a steady, stalking version of Robots Helping Robots. What becomes clear in this Twilight Zone rock tale is that these helpful beings or quasi-beings might have a slightly different agenda. The best song of the night was The Good Times, which the band elevated from a brooding 6/8 anthem into an angst-fueled Romany-rock waltz, Carino singing low and wounded, looking back on a long-gone era when “All we wanted was love.” As the set went on, briskly pulsing major-key verses hit uneasy minor-key choruses, or vice versa, Benjoya sometimes skeletal, sometimes roaring, Mattina keeping the cinders burning underneath. All this is just part of what the band will bring to the stage next week.

It wouldn’t be fair to mention Regular Einstein’s set without including the headliner at that October show, new wave rockers Lazy Lions, who managed to lure most of the Mets crowd back downstairs for an edgy, lyrically-driven set of their own. Frontman/keyboardist Jim Allen sang with a mattter-of-fact, Graham Parker-esque blue-eyed soul delivery and played slinky, tersely tuneful organ over bassist Anne-Marie Stehn’s pulsing new wave, Motown and reggae-inflected grooves. Guitarist Robert Sorkin gave the group a burning, blues-infused backdrop, often taking a handoff from Allen for all-too-brief, incisive solos.

He brought to mind Keith Richards’ uneasy chord-chopping on Rock in a Hard Place on the opening number. A little later, he and Allen hit an more forceful update on an Elvis Costello Watching the Detectives style interlude midway through the vengeful kiss-off anthem Susannah Rachel. .From there they deftly blended hints of XTC, Antmusic, oldschool soul and Let It Be era Beatles into their brisk, scampering new wave tunes, suspenseful minor-key verses rising to catchy, anthemic choruses and turnarounds. The slowest, most wistful song of the night was the most soul-inflected, a new one titled Liverpool Is Leaving You Behind. The catchiest grew out of hints of dub to a snarling chorus fueled by Sorkin’s phaser guitar. They closed with a characteristically sardonic, self-effacing one, Magellan in Reverse. Lazy Lions don’t play a lot of shows, but when they do, they always pick a good bill to play on and this was no exception.