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Any showgoer who’s witnessed a gaggle of unkempt, late-arriving rock dudes spilling out of a beat-up Ford Econoline knows that the line between a hard-touring indie-rocker and a straight-up hobo is a thin one. Both dubious “professions” involve meandering throughout the country with little or no money, sleeping on floors, and an ever-present offensive body odor. If there used to be any noticeable difference, it was in their musical tastes—but it was only a matter of time until a band like Man Man traded in its Marshall stacks for banjos. Ditching the Velvet Underground for Harry Partch, the Philadelphia quintet has finally bridged the last cultural divide that separated America’s jaded, mid-20s ne’er-do-wells from America’s unemployed, train-hopping derelicts. The union ain’t bad though—and Man Man’s krautrock-railroad-chantey-hybrid smells fresher than one might expect. Ask their roadie if he’ll swap records for Thunderbird when Man Man performs with the Fiery Furnaces and Land of Talk at 9 p.m. at the 9:30 Club, 815 V St. NW. $15. (202) 393-0930. (Aaron Leitko)