"The Werks" calls to mind a combination of many potent elements that form a masterwork... like a "works" pizza. In some seriousness, (pizza is very serious) an amalgamation of musical traits and genres are is exactly what these guys are. Funk? Check. Rock? Check. Psychedelic? Please.

The tools by which they craft this musical monster are fine tuned and sharp. Shredding guitar, slap bass, and bouncy organs and synthesizers tear up and refine the ever evolving paths of their songs.

In a constantly expanding, popular jam band scene, The Werks improvise their way through some juicy, intense musical fusion. Their passion for improv is heavy, so that nearly every show they play is a wholly unique experience.

Their show in Buffalo tonight has been moved from Nietzsche's to The Waiting Room, and pre-sale tickets WILL be honored.   Doors are at 8PM, and tickets are $12

Alex Ebert and his posse are on album number three and their extravagant hippie parade shows no signs of slowing down. Under the stage/cartoon messiah name Edward Sharpe, Ebert has made some deliriously joyful noises with The Magnetic Zeros. The band's new self-titled record may  be the band's most concentrated, pitch-perfect attempt at sixties-throwback pop songwriting. Its lo-fi production aesthetic, however, undermines and dilutes the effect of some truly likable tracks.

Instead of creating warmth and nostalgia, the crackly, song-submerging production comes off as generally alienating, consciously far lower in sound quality than the pop hits of yesteryear Ebert cheerily apes and expressively transforms. Ebert seems to have a romantic idea of lo-fi recordings, forgetting that most great acts who resorted to the techniques the band uses on the record did so out of DIY necessity and were more than thrilled to use better technology once their budgets permitted. Unless Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros have already spent the money they've made from being featuring on NFL commercials, the group has no excuse for intentionally sounding broke.

Gripes against production choices aside, Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros is an enjoyable listen beneath the "did-I-just-download-a-crappy-32-kbps-copy-of-this-album-or-is-this-actually-how-it-sounds" coat of sonic sludge that dampens everything a bit. The songs themselves, divorced from the slumming recording style, are breezy, fun, full of psychedelic fervor and gospel-of-love preaching. Whether calling listeners to "come celebrate" the difficulties of living on "Life is Hard" or espousing mass love-intoxication on the winding, jangling, brilliant "Let's Get High," Ebert rises above the fuzz and exudes the messianic confidence his alter ego is sworn to project.

The grab-bag of Beatlesesque Magical Mystery Touring, Age of Aquarius promising, and pseudo-Motown and reggae dance hall-hopping, covered in coos and claps, is as wonderful as anything The Magnetic Zeros are capable of. Though over-long and (very) occasionally lackluster, Edward Sharpe and The Magnetic Zeros is by-in-large a charming affair, closing with "This Life" in the Key of Surprisingly Honest Self-Reflection. If only the band hadn't felt the need to stamp out their ecstatic strengths with fourth-rate recording equipment...

Grade: B

Portugal. The Man have joined forces with the ever-brilliant Danger Mouse to create an album of wickedly energetic but listener-friendly anthems. Evil Friends, the Alaskan natives' eighth album in seven years, is yet another example of the prolific band's hyperactive ability to craft glittering MGMT-style art-rock. Early album tracks like "Creep in a T-Shirt" and "Evil Friends" feature Portugal. The Man at their most gleefully enjoyable, turning haughty gibes into brave psychedelic masterpieces.

Pondering the path of mankind, the record actively pursues the most fundamental of questions: "What do we do with our lives?" Though the spiritual struggles that crop up throughout Evil Friends lack the subtlety and precision of Vampire Weekend's recent foray into the metaphysical, Evil Friends does consciously explore "blind faith vs. blind rejection", "blindly live for now vs. blindly live for later" territory with compelling results.

Alternately, moral, immoral, and amoral, Portugal. The Man's lyrics curve toward an intense longing for belief, though belief in what proves fairly perplexing. Belief in self seems (unsurprisingly) excessively self-indulgent on "Modern Jesus." Belief in drugged pleasure and fame as end-goals on "Ecstasy" is childish and by the band's own definition "evil." Belief in romantic love as an all-healing salve serves as cowardly distraction on "Smile." Religion is unreliable. Agnostic unknowing is uncomfortable and useless.

The band performs with enough belief and conviction, however, to make Evil Friends an ambitiously entertaining, frequently invigorating, electrically-charged experience. Danger Mouse's production brings out the band's merits in exciting and encouraging ways, capitalizing on each tinkle of sound, each strumming rattle of guitars and pointed inflection in singer John Gourley's chilly, nasal post-Oasis voice. Evil Friends is an album to be believed in, demonstrating the range of the Danger Mouse-touch and the continued relevance of Portugal. The Man's tripped-out indie jam band vision.

Grade: B+

In 1966, Os Mutantes emerged on the forefront of the Brazilian Tropicália movement, bringing a circus full of lovably iconoclastic tunes to the world. After breaking apart in 1978, the group reformed with a new lineup (read: a lineup featuring one original member) in 2006. Living off of the moniker's global fame with a drastically reshuffled team of tricksters, the new vehicle continues to bear some sonic similarity to the inceptive pioneers it claims to represent. Nonetheless their latest Kubrick-referencing war-is-hell album, Fool Metal Jack, feels immediately dated.

On Fool Metal Jack, Os Mutantes attempt to adapt to the 21st century music industry, but somewhat shoddy production values (and digital cover art for that matter) detract from the entire experience. With the exception of the exquisite "Eu Descobri," the band uncharacteristically rely on strained if not at times clever English lyrics. Although the effort is often competent, it is rarely sublime.

There are bright splashes of color and imagination throughout the work. The reggae coos of "Ganjaman" are derivative but delightful. The coughed vocals on the plodding, ugly title cut bring a creative touch to an otherwise off-putting song. But even happily accessible tracks like "To Make It Beautiful" and "Into Limbo" seem tired in comparison to earlier masterpieces. Though the final third of "Once Upon a Flight" comes close to rekindling the impossible, as a whole the record never flies near enough to the sun to even burn as a spectacular mess.

Fool Metal Jack is conceptually curious but mostly painful to listen to, if only because of what once was. It is not the joyous psychedelic romp the band's famed debut so delightfully encapsulated. Despite noble artistic aspirations, inevitably, the Mutantes have mutated into a lesser entity. 

Grade: C+

Jim James has named his first real solo album Regions of Light and Sound of God, modeled his hair/beardcut after the classic Jesus Christ look, and proceeded to sing cryptic lyrics about Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., the Promised Land, and the folly of man. The ploy may be strange, but is hardly ironic, in any modern or conventional sense. If anything, James seems to fearlessly seek what he calls “elevated feeling” with a religious rigor too often dismissed by secular artists.