Playbill

Graham begins with "Twilight," a theme-setter that immediately lets us know where he's coming from -- middle age -- with these cracked-mirror, rusty-razor, where-did-that-ache-come-from musings that seem ripped still bleeding from his subconscious: "How much trouble are we in / Don't you hear those violins / Do you believe we were conceived in sin / Well, I do." Listen to the album a few times and the title becomes less and less ironic. In Graham's vision of the great battle, beautifully harmonized with Patti Griffin, "Good things will happen / Bad things will happen / And very often I won't know the difference at all."

Throughout, Graham is fixated on the trials of simply getting out of bed and doing what you've got to do to make a life in spite of your mistakes and illusions. Most of these songs are dark-of-night insomniac soul searches that, it seems, somehow always manage to find a touch of salvation and purpose -- even Graham's blow-down-the-walls covers of Neil Young's "Harvest" and the traditional lament "Lonesome Valley." Graham, second guitarist Mike Hardwick and producer-guitarist Charlie Sexton burn up the strings on these and other guitar romps such as "I Don't Feel That Way Anymore." But it's the addition of quiet, humorous musings like "Something to Look Forward To" and the gentle "Robot Moving" that flesh out Graham's existential view and make it palatable instead of boorish: "I swore I'd never use the word irony in a song / 'Course the irony is that I never meant to live this long / Yeah, but I did / Now what am I supposed to do about that?" These aren't disposable Ryan Adams pop-star songs scribbled on wet napkins at the spur of a drunken moment. Like Hemingway once said of Nelson Algren, "This is a man writing." -- William Michael Smith

Saturday, September 25, at the Continental Club, 3700 Main, 713-529-9899.

Social Distortion, with the Explosion and Tiger Army

X, Black Flag and Circle Jerks may get the most accolades as pioneers of the SoCal punk scene, but Social Distortion has best withstood the ravages of time. Founded in 1978 by Mike Ness and brothers Frank and Rikk Agnew (who would later form the also influential Adolescents), the band had already undergone a number of lineup changes by 1983, when they recorded Mommy's Little Monster, their seminal debut. Led by the title track and opener "The Creeps (I Just Wanna Give You)," it was a raging slab of alienation and chunky, searing riffs that would serve as a template for many who followed. But Ness continued to mature, as evidenced by their follow-up, 1988's Prison Bound, which found him melding their punk attack with a rootsy, country-ish approach that compromised a bit of tempo, but none of the power. They continued in this vein, scoring a minor hit with their cover of Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire," and recording three albums for Epic along the way, until 2000, when Ness's childhood friend, Social Distortion guitarist Daniel Danell, died suddenly of a brain aneurysm. There were doubts about the band's future, but they've returned with Sex, Love and Rock'n'Roll, their first studio album in eight years, with Rancid's Matt Freeman replacing John Maurer, their bassist of 20 years. Whatever the lineup, the crux remains the same: Ness's gruff, brash vocals, fiery, rootsy riffs, and hot-blooded tales of hard luck and redemption. -- Chris Parker

Tuesday, September 28, at Verizon Wireless Theater, 520 Texas, 713-230-1600.

Dr. John, with B.B. King at the B.B. King Blues Festival 2004

For a guy who first wafted like the smoke off a voodoo candle into the national consciousness in 1968, Dr. John ain't doing bad at all. After all, think of all the wrong turns he could have taken, not the least of which is this: He could have wound up as the Jimmy Buffett of the Big Easy, a tedious champion of weekend-warrior Bourbon Street dissipation, a purveyor of "I got loaded at the district managers' convention" ditties like "Show Me Some Titties (If You Want Deez Heah Beedz)" or some such. There's sure to be big money for somebody in such a career, and about 15 or 20 years ago, when he was at loose ends, Dr. John could just as well have reinvented himself along those lines.

But thank God and Marie Laveau he didn't. Instead, he indulged his always-present archival bent, and became the foremost preservationist in a city full of musical conservatives. His new album, N'Awlinz: Dis, Dat Or D'Udda, continues the recycled, updated classics streak he started with 1972's Dr. John's Gumbo and revisited in 1992 with Goin' Back to New Orleans.