The Growlers, a sextet from Long Beach, turn on their bubble machine with a rather refreshingly nasal take on the blues by way of The Byrds, rhythms alternately driving and loping as they ride a vaguely countrified train that is neither too loud nor too clichéd. The effect is that of driving through the desert, piercing various veils of heat, humidity and rain. They’d sound really interesting at half speed; definitely a talent to watch. “It’s Black Jacks,” the ticket lady so helpfully corrects me as I wonder aloud if BLK JKS = Black Jicks, Black Jokes—that one goes over well—and if you like the Durutti Column, Battles, and Living Colour, you’ll like this energetic South African quartet. There are many technically proficient bands out there—like Battles—blessed with chops aplenty, but there’s no center. Dress them in different clothes and gird them with different pull-quotes and they’re just like any backwater jam band. It’s not that they’re not good—they’re great. CGI is great. So is Xerox. Giada de Laurentiis is amazing, bless her spatula. It’s just that there’s nothing to hold on to with BLK JKS apart from technical ecstasy. The best and most challenging moments occur when they’re noisy and unkempt; when they go off-script—and you know that when you’re waiting for noise where none is intended, you’re hanging around for the wrong reasons. Where is the fire? Or, in the case of BLK JKS, where is the side-mounted flamethrower?

—David Cotner