8 p.m. Juanita’s. $10 adv., $12 d.o.s.
It’s time for a live show of music that’s made for lying in bed watching the ceiling fan spin, tuning in and dropping out to slumberous skyward guitars.
For a band that’s so potently neo-psychedelic and stoner rock, Dead Meadow seems to be made up of fairly smart guys — their drummer stepped out temporarily to go to law school, and they have lyrics indebted to Tolkien and Lovecraft (considered reasonably intellectual reading).
But critics are polarized over whether or not the band has made any significant evolution after 10 years and five albums. It’s up to you to decide — are they pushing boundaries with janglier riffs and more harmonic restraint than ever, or just languishing in the cavernous reverb of a long-running acid-trip?