Santigold, the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and more

Santigold, moments before vomiting glitter all over the street

Santigold, moments before vomiting glitter all over the street



Turf Club

Thrash, children. Thrash because it keeps you warm. Thrash because it's good for the heart. Thrash because it's what all the cool kids are doing. And I've heard that all the cool kids are thrashing till they bleed while watching Sinks. The internal-organ-liquefying onslaught of Sinks' hyperactive garage punk has the ability to activate all those parts in your brain that make you do bad things. But thrashing is not a bad thing. At this Sinks show, expect a rapid assault of power chords and stylistic nods to Richard Hell and the Voidoids, but way more brutal than anything that safety-pinned jerk could come up with. With Sinks, love comes in spurts...of blood. Fun, fun blood hastily packaged into rabid two-minute explosions for your enjoyment. With Cortez the Killer, $kipper, and Real Numbers. 21+. $3. 9 p.m. 1601 University Ave., St. Paul; 651.647.0486. —Erin Roof



First Avenue

To clear up the name issue right away, Santogold is now Santigold. Both are the alter ego of Philly/Brooklyn singer Santi White, who formerly fronted the new-/no-wave band Stiffed and scored a big critical and commercial hit last year with her genre-busting, dance-oriented solo debut. Eponymously dubbed Santogold and featuring an alluring mix of new wave, dub, ska, pop, electronica, and White's sultry howl, it sported the most unfortunate cover art in recent memory, depicting White apparently vomiting gold glitter. Baltimore filmmaker and would-be rapper Santo Rigatuso evidently felt equally queasy when he complained that he'd been calling himself Santo Gold since the 1980s. The upshot is that White is coming to town as Santigold, toting along a full band, dancers, and openers Trouble Andrew (who dueted with White on "I'm a Lady") and singer/emcee Amanda Blank. And while Santo Gold is probably headed for oblivion, Santigold promises to fill dance floors for years to come, luring the punters with her vocal nods to Gwen Stefani and Debbie Harry, while pushing the edge with her cross-pollinations and collaborations with hot-shot producers like Diplo, John Hill, and Switch. 18+. $20/$22 at the door. 6 p.m. 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612.332.1775. —Rick Mason


Varsity Theater

With the band's recent release, Kingdom of Rust, Manchester's Doves have returned with a sound that bridges its booming guitars with a thick classic-rock vibe. For the recording of the album, the band's first since 2005's Mercury Prize-nominated Some Cities, the group holed up in a small farm on the Cheshire Plains between Manchester and Liverpool. The isolation allowed the group to amass some 40 or 50 songs during their sessions for Rust, which is evident on the album as, melodically, it covers so much ground. For live performances, the band strips down its layered, guitar-based songs, offering fans a bit of a rugged translation of its music. This approach allows for the songs to evolve, lending a fresh feel to the music, which serves to make each show unique. Doves will be joined by Wild Light. 18+. $20. 7 p.m. 1308 Fourth St. SE, Minneapolis; 612.604.0222. —Chris DeLine


Ari Hoenig

Artists' Quarter

Philly-born, Brooklyn-based drummer Ari Hoenig combines jaw-dropping intensity, phenomenal technique, and visionary perspective, making him a major force in jazz's evolution through the 21st century. After studying in the renowned North Texas jazz program, Hoenig became a in-demand session musician in New York, making a name for himself with a particularly supple touch that produces complex textures, frenetic flourishes, and head-spinning twists amid explosive music that is yet packed with lyricism. He has been called one of the most melodic drummers in jazz, and lives up to that most spectacularly on a solo drum-kit version of Monk's "Round Midnight"—the melody gloriously discernable—on last fall's Bert's Playground. Tonal colors regularly fly off his skins, from the free-jazz-funk workout with saxophonist Chris Potter on Hoenig's own "Green Spleen" to the exquisitely delicate collaboration with Israeli guitarist Gilad Hekselman on "Embraceable You." Hoenig, who likes to call his bands Punk Bop (reflecting his intention to re-energize but not overthrow tradition), will appear in a trio format here, with Hekselman and local bassist Adam Linz of Fat Kid Wednesdays. $20. 9 p.m. 408 Saint Peter St., St. Paul; 651.292.1359. —Rick Mason


Yeah Yeah Yeahs

First Avenue

The Yeahs burst onto the scene as fire-breathing garage-rock revivalists, exulting in the lusty pleasures of a raging guitar, crashing drums, and a howling singer. Arty aspirations quickly spawned evolutionary changes, so the trio's current release, It's Blitz!, is light years removed from those origins, with a sound dominated by vintage synths and a vibe that's less raucous, more atmospheric, but also more ambitious. Much of the new material has an essentially introspective spirit, reaching extremes on "Runaway" and "Little Shadow," quiet, even gentle ballads on which Karen O croons dreamily among billowy electronic clouds. O, guitarist Nick Zinner, and drummer Brian Chase tackle this reserved temper with consummate assurance, however, and there's no shortage of adrenalin elsewhere, as power rock melds with power pop; spiky guitar fuses with edgy, new wavey, percolating synths; and O yelps provocatively, demanding "dance till you're dead" at the end of "Heads Will Roll." Yeah, the band continues to change. Is it still cool? O, Yeah. With Grand Ole Party. All ages. $25. 6 p.m. 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612.332.1775. —Rick Mason

Man Man


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

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