The last time Allentown sludgefuckers Pissed Jeans played New York, it was a full-scale riot for control of the dance floor—some Sharks-versus-Jets shit soundtracked by hot, molten tar. In one corner: the scrawny indie-rock faithful, drawn to Pissed Jeans’ burly riffs, tittering along to their purposely brain-dead prattle about ice cream and jogging, swooning to their decidedly non-metal good looks and shirtless swagger. In the other corner: hoodie-wearing hardcore dudes getting hip to a Sub Pop band because—duh—Pissed Jeans just make great slowpoke slamdance. Openers AIDS Wolf are Montreal’s heirs apparent to Rhode Island art-spazz: high-treble, highly spasmodic, probably really high. With Tokyo no-wavers 2Up.
Fri., April 11, 7 p.m., 2008