If there's a band in town that deserves its name in lights, it's DRUG RUG, whom we'll forgive for taking the Paradise marquee all to themselves earlier this evening -- but only because they threw in a really awesome cover of a song that was cool to begin with, "Pacer" by Kim Deal's post-Breeders band, the Amps. (About that marquee, though: C'mon -- no Viva Viva? They run out of V's or something? And don't even try telling us they didn't have room for Helms.) Fresh off tour and sounding all the tighter for it, they drew an ecstatic throng to Comm Ave -- no member of whom could've been more excited than Paradise general manager Michelle Goldberg, likely breathing a sigh of relief at this hour. (When we Facebook-status-updated around 8 pm announcing that we were headed to the gig, Michelle tapped in with a nervous "Yay! You'll be ticket holder #49!") Sure, the balcony was closed -- but we'll take triple-local-bills in the roped-off downstairs room any weekend you wanna give 'em to us. Especially when the headliners are as face-meltingly ferocious as Drug Rug's Sarah Cronin -- jesus fuck. She's got more Chuck Berry in her middle finger than you'll find in all of Black Lips's toes. There's a new Drug Rug EP out -- but this is a band whose recorded material does them almost no justice. Which is why we're throwing up two video clips to give you a taste of what you're missing. Trust us: you need this band in your life. Now.

DRUG RUG: Pacer (Amps Cover, Live at the Paradise, Feb 27 2009)

CHECK OUT ANOTHER 2 CLIPS AFTER THE JUMP >>>

If you are reading this and thinking "Who is Pylon?" and "Who is Randy Bewley?", then you can count yourself in a large majority of rock music fans; for better or worse, the legacy of Athens, GA stalwarts Pylon is forever overshadowed by the twin titans of R.E.M. and The B-52's, two contemporaries who most definitely did not follow Pylon's general ethos of quitting while they were ahead.

Phosphorescent performing Nelson’s “Reasons to Quit” at the Cake Shop, NYC, 10.24.08

On Friday, Brooklynite beard-bard par excellence Matthew Houck a/k/a PHOSPHORESCENT will roll into Boston with a crack band of players to perform (among other things) some numbers off of To Willie, Houck’s recently released tribute to Willie Nelson (named in a nod to Willie’s 1975 tribute to Lefty Frizzell, To Lefty, From Willie)-- and an unexpectedly traditional follow-up to his 2007 debut, Pride

It’s not typical all-ages MassArt Friday-night protocol to stick a solo upright-bassist right in the middle of the night — the bare-walled, no-chaired Room 181 here isn’t exactly big on spots for lounging and reflecting — but having Nat Baldwin open for the hyperactive Big Digits last Friday ended up being one of those awkwardly DIY kitchen-sink moments that make you wonder why every bill isn’t this weird.

It’s been more than a year since guitarist JAMES BLACKSHAW came through town. Back then, he was riding a wave of critical acclaim for The Cloud of Unknowing (Tompkins Square), and he played a technically and æsthetically breathtaking set at the BCA’s Mills Gallery.

By the time the Bluesmobile sirened past Game On — where my crew had congregated for the sole purpose of monitoring pandemonium outside the new House of Blues on Lansdowne Street — and I realized that it might be prudent to jump in line, there were already about 1500 people queuing.

Merciful heavens, this Fake Album meme that's spreading all over Facebook's nethers is relentless. Put simply (Dad), the deal is you take your band name, your album title and album artwork from random content generated by a trio of pre-selected websites. Then you spend the next 30 minutes fucking around in Photoshop and minimizing the window every time your boss goes past and voila! Instant music industry.

The gentleman pictured above is actually not that guy that keeps hitting up your match.com profile, he's Matthew Houck, a/k/a Phosphorescent, and his brand of countrified fucked-folk is as vibrant and cozy as his sleeping arrangements. Earlier this month, the venerable Dead Oceans label released To Willie, just short of a dozen Willie Nelson covers performed with the sort of ardor only a true fan of the Red Headed Stranger could demonstrate (the album's title itself is a nod to Nelson's 1975 tribute to Lefty Frizell, To Lefty, From Willie).

It used to be that gratuitous C-level celebrity beef was confined to rap mixtapes, supermarket tabloids, and the E! True Hollywood Story. Leave it to Perez Hilton and Lily Allen to take messageboardy flame wars to the next level. Welcome to the inauguration of a new and altogether more pathetic tribunal: a catfight on Twitter.

These should be good times for Ms. Cyrus: the Hannah Montana movie is previewing on Disney Channel, thus auguring another round of Miley-mania -- above and beyond the business-as-usual Miley mania that has become the de-facto mode of operation for pre-voting-age American girls of every persuasion.

Instead, she's experiencing simultaneous trainwrecks: her Ashlee Simpson-esque performance on British television's answer to SNL, in which she apparently forgot the words to her latest single, has (inevitably) become the talk of YouTube; and she's currently suffering the insult-to-injury indignity of an industrial-grade Twitter-account hack

All-natural ingredients: High Places and the quest for oomph

The ICA, you may have heard, has been in the news a bit lately. Yet there was something else happening there Sunday night as well, as soon-to-be-ex-Brooklynites High Places performed as part of World Music/CRASHarts' program.

I planned to let the Grammys slide this year. After all, the show has become – or always has been, really – an overblown celebration of unabashed mediocrity. When people, including my mother, suggest that I should tune in because I’m a music critic, I want to spoon their brains out with a melon baller.

Not even Lil Wayne’s gaining exalted Grammy status drove me over the immediate edge, and I hate that dude.