Man Man are a gypsy orchestra hailing from Philadelphia. And they're weird. (Your first clue: The band's roster includes musicians by the names of Honus Honus, Pow Pow, and Critter Crat.) With zany lyrics that are a fitting homage to Beck's Stereopathic Soulmanure, vocals like Tom Waits after throat surgery, and a musical delivery like Frank Zappa, Man Man's sound is a neuron-scrambling fiesta. The band's messy waltzes would require the steady hand of a brain surgeon to dissect. But Man Man is not about the individual pieces. It's the haphazard mixology of a mad scientist that makes this experiment in chaos theory so enjoyable. With Gogol Bordello. All ages. $24. 7 p.m. 917 Cedar Ave., Minneapolis; 612.338.6425. —Erin Roof


Holy Fuck

7th St. Entry

Santigold, moments before vomiting glitter all over the street
courtesy of the artist
Santigold, moments before vomiting glitter all over the street

These are Canadians (for fuck's sake!) who spout expletives (at least the nominative one) and perform wild-ass, improvised electronica over driving rock rhythms. Toronto's Holy Fuck's exuberant, noisy, all-instrumental assault sounds like the shit's hit the fan and is doing the psychedelic shimmy in some space-odyssey dance club. Chief Fuckers Graham Walsh and Brian Borcherdt concentrate on keyboards. Abetted by a revolving crew of drummers and bassists, they take an organic approach to techno wizardry, eschewing the usual programming, loops, and samples in favor of low-tech stuff salvaged from the electronic scrap heap but wielded with particular savvy and the derring-do of off-the-cuff experimenters. Holy Fuck's last album, 2007's LP, is 37 sparkling minutes of assertive, slippery, shape-shifting grooves amid layers of turbulent pulses, bloops, whooshes, and bleeping mind warps. With Crocodiles and Haunted House. 18+. $10. 8 p.m. 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612.332.1775. —Rick Mason

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