SUNDAY

On their debut disc, Fall of the Plastic Empire, Burning Brides round up the usual metallic suspects—Black Sabbath, the Stooges, Rush—but throw in some newer influences to give their sound that “contemporary” feel. The resulting songs vary from the hepped-up garage punk of “Glass Slipper” to the King Kong riffs of “If I’m a Man” to the naked (but good) Foo Fighters knockoff “Arctic Snow”—a blatant bid for radio airplay if I’ve ever heard one. This Philadelphia power trio wouldn’t know an original sonic idea from one of Jim’s Steaks; their lyrics are dreck (“I don’t know why you suck on your thumb and cry/All the fuzzy caterpillars turn into butterflies”), and their protests against the “plastic empire” are ludicrous. But vocalist-guitarist Dimitri Coats plays some of the biggest, fuzziest guitar solos in recent memory, and with riffs like that, who gives a shit about ideas or lyrics anyway? Joining the Brides will be Burn Guitars, a New York City quartet that features three bassists and a drummer. If the idea of a guitarless rock band doesn’t exactly have you peeing in your pleather, perhaps you’ll be persuaded by the reactions of an excited rock press—the January 2001 issue of Rock N Roll Experience claims to “genuinely think that this is probably the most original idea of the year so far”—or the band’s Web site, which states that Burn Guitars is “not responsible for any damage that our sound does to your speakers or your girlfriend or your mind or your armpit or your armpit’s mind or your mind’s armpit.” So go, all ye stoners, but be warned: An armpit is a terrible thing to waste. With Dead Meadow at 8 p.m. Sunday, Sept. 2, at the Velvet Lounge, 915 U St. NW. $6. (202) 462-7625. (Michael Little)