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I’m not sure I agree that the gazillionth album by Dublin’s the Frames, Burn the Maps, contains any “full blown anger” as the press sheet maintains, nor is the band’s music quite like “putting a Herzog still under a microscope” (though a previous album was titled Fitzcarraldo). In all fairness, the Frames are a borderline-great, forgot-to-save-the-drama-for-their-mamas band—and by that I mean they share intimacy issues (generally vocal) with Nick Cave, Tindersticks, Arab Strap, Frog Eyes, and the Standard. But no one “over here” particularly seems to care about the Frames—much like soccer—whereas they are fucking huge “over there.” Musically, the band jumps around like the above-mentioned Arab Strap (add a little more jangle) but with a decidedly more traditional angle (see fiddle player) that recalls a slower Pogues—you know, being all Irish and shit. The Frames play with Mark Geary at 9:30 p.m. on the Black Cat’s Mainstage, 1811 14th St. NW. $12. (202) 667-7960. (Andrew Earles)