by Robert Bell
People: Please, please, please do not miss this show. That is, if you have any interest whatsoever in the work of a bona fide pop genius who's been toiling away on the margins of the musical landscape for 30-some-odd years, releasing thousands of songs scattered across 400-plus cassettes and CD-Rs. When he was just a teen-ager, R. Stevie Moore began recording his own bizarro pop tunes of just about every flavor you could imagine, from proggy guitar shredding to Byrds-y jangle to raging rockers and new wave ravers and unnerving, plaintive spoken-word interludes and everything that falls between those points. And he hasn't stopped since then. See, these cats like Moore and Bob Pollard can't really help it. The muse is screaming in their ears and the only way to shut her up is to churn out pop gem after frazzled, fractured, warped pop gem. Lucky us. To be sure, there's some rough surrounding the diamonds, such as the occasional sharp turn into a lengthy piece of tape experiment/musique concrete, but the mine is deep and it is well worth exploring. You might get lost in there, but you probably won't miss the outside world. So God bless fellow traveler Ariel Pink, who cites Moore's influence on his own brand of mutated AM sounds and has helped shine a light on his sonic forbearer. While Moore has played occasional live shows over the years, this is his first full-scale tour, and he's backed by Tropical Ooze, from Brooklyn. Little Rock's Sea Nanners open the show. Once more, with feeling: Do not miss this.