From Data Breaker:

Julietta, Miss Shelrawka, DJ Shift, Jonny Romero, Ctrl_Alt_Dlt

(Electric Tea Garden) Julietta initially drew inspiration from German dub-techno pioneer Maurizio (one of the Basic Channel label's stars) and Detroit techno soul-inflator Moodymann. Their influence manifests in Julietta's understated yet eminently danceable selections that pull from techno's top-shelf producers. She knows how to build tension and then release it without being crassly obvious about it. Her sets, which lately have included tracks by Deetron, Luciano, Lee Curtiss, Kai Alcé, and Sascha Dive, prove that you can lose yourself in bliss without having the urge to thrust your arms heavenward—your hips are another story, though. DAVE SEGAL

From Up & Coming:

Kawabata Makoto, ?Alos, Aerial Rain

(Dissonant Plane) Kawabata Makoto leads prolific psych-rock behemoths Acid Mothers Temple, but on his own he often opts for beatific guitar emanations that suggest a strict regimen of Zen Buddhist meditation rather than AMT's grandiloquent jamming and sonic holocausts. You could say the man loves his extremes. The INUI series of albums Kawabata's recorded for VHF Records—as well as I'm in Your Inner Most and Hosanna Mantra—stands as a beautiful, solemn monument to his mellower inclinations, but you should probably bring earplugs, just in case the Japanese ax master gets into one of his ornery moods. Bonus: Dissonant Plane will give you a limited-edition poster to commemorate this event with any Kawabata/Acid Mothers—related purchase or any $20-plus purchase of merchandise. DAVE SEGAL

Tyvek, Western Hymn, Atomic Bride

(Funhouse) Tyvek are masters of the simple, and in this case that's not a bad thing at all. Their brand of dry punk rock comes off like a meeting of Minutemen and the Lights, and while there's nothing groundbreaking about the sound, Tyvek twist it in distinctive ways. And when frontman Kevin Boyer belts out words like "I saw her standing on the infrastructure" or "She can drive a Honda like I can drive a Honda," it's clear that's exactly what he should be yelling at that point. Any other approach would just seem dishonest. GRANT BRISSEY

The Heavy, Thee Emergency

(Crocodile) "I've been a bad, bad, bad, bad man," the Heavy's Swaby slurs in the song "How You Like Me Now," a few seconds before hissing the title over and over (you'll note the question lacks a question mark; that's because you can tell by his vocal swagger that Swaby already knows the answer). The Heavy could make a good living as a Sonics cover band, but they're not content to just sit on the soulful vocals and bitch-slap rhythms; they're also a really great reggae band, with riddims that suggest they've been making reggae music for years. And then they break out the old-school funk and it sounds more authentic than any three-quarters honky group should be able to make; the Heavy are three great bands for the price of one. PAUL CONSTANT

The Tripwires, Llama, the Small Change

(Sunset) Seattle quartet the Tripwires write well-crafted pop/rock songs that suggest they've spent many studious hours with the brilliant catalogs of the Byrds, Nick Lowe, Squeeze, Gram Parsons, and other composers whose brainchildren have gone on to the stand the test of time with impressively erect postures. The Tripwires—seasoned scene fixtures John Ramberg, Jim Sangster, Johnny Sangster, and Mark Pickerel—understand the importance in their particular niche of memorable hooks, interesting dynamics, varied guitar tones, and passionate vocalizing. They proudly and staunchly uphold the verities of this traditional approach to music-making on their new album, House to House (Spark & Shine Records), whose public emergence tonight's show celebrates. DAVE SEGAL

irr. app. (ext.)

(Wall of Sound) irr. app. (ext.) is the cryptic moniker for San Francisco's Matthew Waldron, one of the few earthlings qualified to collaborate with sonically omnivorous equilibrium-wreckers Nurse with Wound and apocalyptic goth folkies Current 93. irr. app. (ext.)'s 1998 CD An uncertain animal, ruptured; tissue expanding in conversation struck me as one of the weirdest albums ever—and I've heard thousands of 'em. Waldron has moved from that disc's ruptured, abstract miniatures to the rarefied air (and water) of drone-based composition, into which he often injects field recordings of nature and civilization. The effect of this MO on albums like Cosmic Superimposition, Ozeanische Gefühl, and Kreiselwelle is less jarring and more subtly disorienting than on previous efforts. Expect a serious immersion into surreptitiously unsettling tone poetry (free-verse style). DAVE SEGAL

There's always more in our music calendar listings, and don't forget to check our complete guide tonight and tomorrow's Halloween parties.