Dead Rider

  • It’s for you, I think it’s Dead Rider.

DEAD RIDER
10 p.m., White Water Tavern, $5.

You might remember the ’90s Chicago skronk-meisters of U.S. Maple, who released several albums of art-damaged freakout via the Drag City and Skin Graft labels. Todd Rittmann, guit-slinger for the aforementioned act, is now in Dead Rider, a band that travels somewhat similar territory, but with a bit creepier vibe. Twitchy, nervous beats back up menacing synth tones, anguished guitar/saxophone interplay and some beautiful singing from Andrea Faught. Check out the hypnotic, spaghetti-Western guitar snaking around on “Dear Blocks” from the band’s recently released “The Raw Dents.” Spin scribe Joe Gross wrote that Dead Rider’s latest sounds “… like Scott Walker staggering through the desert, preaching the gospel of Beefheart.” That’s an apt description, as the album reminded this writer, too, of later period Walker, he of nightmarescapes like “Tilt” and “The Drift.” Fayetteville bludgeoners Egypter open the show.

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