Holy Fuck, Super Furry Animals

Wouldn’t it be nice if your mother actually took an interest in your taste in music and asked what you’ve been listening to lately? Not if you’re a Holy Fuck fan. Imagine the horror on her face when you responded with “Holy Fuck!” She would wonder why you’d ever use such foul language in front of her, and probably wash your mouth out with soap. Or ask if you were mad about something. “No, Mom, they’re this band from Toronto—really outta sight,” you’d say. Even if you played the music for her first, it’s likely she would lose interest when you started going into all the geeky technical aspects of this largely instrumental band: an arsenal of circuit-bent electronic toys, keyboards, bass, guitar, and two drummers. The band’s lock-tight grooves and penchant for shitty analog gear place them in the trajectory of Surrender to the Night-era Trans Am: Vocals are slim to none, and noise is deliberate. Listening to it just makes you want to say (ahem), “Holy Fuck!”—but never in front of your mother. Neumo’s, 925 E. Pike St.,709-9467. $15. 21 and over. Doors at 8 p.m. TRAVIS RITTER

Tue., Feb. 12, 8 p.m., 2008