Ladies, if we’ve learned nothing else from Cosmopolitan—and trust that we haven’t—women are from Venus and men are from stoic, gruff detachment. Theirs is an icy, repressed tundra of tamped feelings and bench presses. Suddenly, Mogwai are making so much sense, those post-rockers from Glasgow and their serious, celestial, seeping meanderings of heavy guitar and booming bass—their live throwdown is not just a great, aggressive show of musicianship! It’s the XY in floodlights! The bayou fog and rattling bass, the refusal of banter, the mostly instrumental improvisations (when they do speak, it’s slurred Scottish and translated roughly to “braaughalfragah,” but this worked to great effect on last year’s The Hawk Is Howling)—Glasvegas cough up their own teeth next to these hulks. If bros could cry, it would feel like this. And it would taste like Glenlivet. With the Twilight Sad.

Wed., April 29, 9 p.m., 2009

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