With the Terminal Lovers, Fistula, and Vortex. Friday, August 1, at the Grog Shop.

Red Bull Wings Cleveland Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, 1 Key Plaza 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. Friday, August 1; 9 a.m. to 10 p.m. Saturday, August 2; and 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. Sunday, August 3. Free; call 216-781-7625.
Every once in a while, a band blends post-hardcore stomp with a kind of self-conscious, ironic redneckism and whomps the living crap out of everything else around. The first major group of this ilk was Tad, whose "Salt Lick" EP belongs in every red-blooded American home. More successful (and more obviously jokey) was Clutch, whose "A Shogun Named Marcus" spoofed the militia mindset to hilarious effect. The latest and most genuinely intimidating band in this mini-genre is Scissorfight. The group's music is a blend of Tad's low-end-fixated riffage with the groove of, say, early ZZ Top and lyrics that are often hilarious, in a really inappropriate way. (Any band that gives its albums titles like Balls Deep and Mantrapping for Sport and Profit obviously isn't big on subtlety; when you can make out the words, you'll be laughing in spite of yourself.)

Vocalist Ironlung is the perfect frontman for this meat-eating outfit, barfing up tales of hillbilly depravity in a voice that's somewhere between GWAR's Oderus Urungus and the late cult actor Lawrence Tierney ("Joe" in Reservoir Dogs). Everyone who likes their boogie rock low-down and brutal, with plenty of stoner amp abuse, will find Scissorfight the band of their deepest, darkest Deliverance nightmares.

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