Indian Jewelry, with Balaclavas, Wicked Poseur and A Thousand Cranes

Disregarding their phantasmagorical live show, Houston noise-dance collective Indian Jewelry — a garishly theatrical troupe of misfit musicians whose members and alumni go by colorful pseu­do­nyms (or are they?) like "Erika Thrasher" and "Ken Consumer" — are perhaps best appreciated through a pair of squelchy, secondhand computer speakers that may or may not have shorted out a long time ago. Somehow the image of technology gone to seed fits with I.J.'s high-concept primitivism, which has cycled through numerous lineups and handles (Electric Fuck All, Benzene Lotion Rash) since forming from the remnants of Swarm of Angels in the early 2000s. Predicting the tenor of any one I.J. show is the ultimate exercise in futility, but online previews of next month's Free Gold (We Are Free) offer a clue or two: the swirling "Swans" could well be a tribute to the NYC noise gods of the same name, while the sinister, hypnotic "Temporary Famine Ship" edges closer to the proto-industrial territory staked out long ago by Killing Joke and Cabaret Voltaire. Helping send I.J. off on their monthlong CD release tour are three local bands with equally dark visions: the austere, crypt-like electronics of Balaclavas, chain-rattling post-punk of Wicked Poseur and opium-clouded drone of A Thousand Cranes.