Critic's Picks: British Sea Power and more

Myth Nightclub

As a lifelong rap head, I don't know whether I should revel in or disguise the fact that I've never heard even one song from either Floridian rapper Plies or Flo Rida. On the one hand, my credibility amongst purists of the backpack variety will undoubtedly go up a notch; on the other, it indicates that I'm not willing to sacrifice my ears for my craft, or worse, that I'm some sort of rap snob (the kind who listens to stuff like Aesop Rock and never dances...uuuggghh). But from a cursory glance at the peer group these two keep in the industry, I'm confident making a blanket indictment of both of them, dismissing both as epitomes of the equally comic and tragic hyper-consumptive/gangsta/nihilist/flossy cotton-candy rap that (I can only assume) is so pervasive on the airwaves (I don't actually tune into) today. Make ya money, shake that ass, I ain't mad at cha. All ages. $40/$50 at the door. 6 p.m. 3090 Southlawn Dr.; Maplewood; 651.779.6984. —Jordan Selbo

Avril Lavigne

Target Center

Canadian Business magazine's seventh most powerful Canadian in Hollywood brings the teenage rampage back to Minnesota in support of her third album, The Best Damn Thing. Between that appellation and more than 30 million units moved, she's more or less immune to snark on an aesthetic level, so I'll say this: Does anyone else identify with her villains? From the poor ballet girl of "Sk8ter Boi" to the dispatched rival inamorata of "Girlfriend," the Avril character has stomped on some sweet, undeserving faces in her time. She is "the motherfucking princess;" is it all an exposé of the prerogatives of rulership in our increasingly royalist age? When will this reign of terror end? During the ballads, that's when! Things are always going wrong in those—all that intra-gender neck breaking and all she gets are dudes who break her heart three songs later. The system is broken! Vote for change! $29.50-$39.50. 6 p.m. 600 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612.673.0900. —Geoff Cannon

Sightings

Turf Club

Your average rock outfit peppers its catchy rapture with gnarly rupture. The grisly no-wave of NYC trio Sightings, on the other hand, is almost all disorienting, volcanic rupture: a post-atomic tangle of instrumentation and seething vocal fury. Sometimes Jonathan Lockie, Mark Morgan, and Richard Hoffman sound like jaws-of-life apparatuses ripping apart crashed cars; sometimes they sound like crippled Transformers bashing broken appendages together in a desperate stab at Morse Code; sometimes their noise is almost suspiciously minimalist (see 2004's Arrived in Gold). Admittedly, on last year's Andrew W.K.-produced Through the Panama, Sightings held their extremist tendencies at bay in an effort to green the scorched-to-the-roots garden they tend. But even with much of the scraping, jutting noise stripped away, Sightings remain too uncompromising for prime time and perfect for an underground that thrives on inscrutable, convoluted confusion and that sweet, sweet rupture. With Gay Witch Abortion. 9 p.m. 1601 University Ave. W., St. Paul; 651.647.0486. —Ray Cummings

Muja Messiah CD-release show

7th St. Entry

The self-proclaimed "b-boy d-boy" Muja Messiah has been a prominent figure in the local scene longer than you've been potty trained, but with some recent moves making noise outside of our claustrophobic borders, he may soon head for greener pastures. This show celebrates the release of his mixtape MPLS Murder, a loose collection of bangers (featuring Web favorites like "Amy Winehouse" and the I Self Devine-assisted "Patriot Act") preceding a proper summer release that'll be louder than a bomb. The disc is free with admission, so if you still don't download, that's a hell of a deal. He also has the goodwill to bring friends like up-and-comers M.anifest and Maria Isa to the party, making this a very late Christmas present. 18+. $7. 8 p.m. 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612.332.1775. —Jordan Selbo

Les Claypool

First Avenue

You either love or hate Les Claypool—there's no real middle ground. He plays his bass in a mixture of flamenco, slap, and finger-tapping styles, which is either extremely off-putting or pure divinity depending on who you are. Claypool's voice, while universally acknowledged as "original," is so nasal it might drive even Minnesotans to cringe. All that said, when Claypool was helming Primus, he was the driving force behind the accumulation of a beyond-rabid fan base that would gleefully declare "Primus sucks!" when asked (think extreme sarcasm here). Since Primus's demise in 2000, Claypool has fronted less commercially successful (but no less inventive) projects like Oysterhead and Colonel Les Claypool's Fearless Flying Frog Brigade. He has also added novelist (2006's South of the Pumphouse was compared to the work of Hunter S. Thompson) and filmmaker (he wrote and directed 2006's Electric Apricot) to an ever-growing résumé. 6 p.m. 18+. $25. 701 First Ave. N., Minneapolis; 612.332.1775. —Pat O'Brien

FRIDAY 3.21.

British Sea Power

Triple Rock Social Club