Let’s face it, at this point the cult of near-mystical devotion that surrounds Nick Cave could allow for the latest Grinderman album to be little more than the patron saint of pale, intellectual pervs slowly burping the alphabet on repeat for 50 minutes over some warbled drum loops and his rapid disciples would flock to devour it. Fortunately, Cave and company aim higher on Grinderman 2, fusing synths, tribal beats, Cave’s signature baritone rantings and guitars searing with sexual implication for a record (and noteworthy remix EP) worthy of all the ballyhoo and fervor the eternally cool Mr. Cave inspires. MA’CHELL DUMA LAVASSAR

Sat., Nov. 27, 8 p.m., 2010

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