POP MUSIC

Baby Cham at Crossroads

Sex and violence are common themes in modern Jamaican music, and an energetic Baby Cham referenced both repeatedly in a 75-minute set that began at 2:45 a.m. Sunday at Crossroads. But the man who may be the next Sean Paul -- a dancehall artist who crosses over to the U.S. hip-hop market -- has such a charming personality that even his filthiest material sounds like a playful boast rather than a bad-man pledge.

A one-time protégé of Bounty Killer, Baby Cham shares the same sort of guttural growl when he's rapping. But Cham also has a decent singing voice, and while he didn't use it all that often, the times he did showed a deep gospel influence. Cham even belted a verse from Bad English's 1989 power ballad "When I See You Smile," a big hit in Jamaica in 1992 when it was remade by Singing Sweet.

"Heading to the Top" was hip-hop with a Jamaican accent, while "Vitamin S," "Many Many" and "Ghetto Pledge" were straight dancehall bangers. But it's the raw "Ghetto Story" that has given the 29-year-old Cham the next-big-thing buzz. The extended version he performed live wasn't very focused, but it was still a thrill whenever the shouted "Rah rah rah!" chorus rang out with the roaring help of the club-wide choir.

Cham followed Spice, an attractive female deejay from Jamaica, and three local opening acts.

-- Christopher Porter

Drive-By Truckers at 9:30

Rock-and-roll isn't a meritocracy. But sometimes, the deserving get what's due 'em. At a sold-out 9:30 club on Saturday, the Drive-By Truckers were treated as heroes, and performed in kind.

Through seven fabulous albums and endless tours, the Alabama-born Truckers have drawled about sweet tea and family feuds with unrivaled thoughtfulness and twang. No urbane Yankee like Al Kooper (Lynyrd Skynyrd's patron) ever safaried south to pluck them from obscurity. No record label that was able or willing to alert the masses ever stepped forward. So the Truckers hit the road and have stayed on it. And, during a sweaty, loud set that lasted nearly three hours -- and was carried live on NPR's Web site -- the hard and brilliant work seemed to have paid off.

The Truckers showed the newbies in the club and on the 'Net what they'd been missing. Few other live acts flaunt three songwriters as talented as Jason Isbell, Mike Cooley and Patterson Hood, all of whom can also sing and bend guitar strings. Isbell favored modern folk rock, with several odes to Dixie touchstones played over three power chords (including "The Day John Henry Died" and "Decoration Day"). Cooley focused on self-destruction. "Women Without Whiskey" had him detailing a loser's having to choose between a lady and liquor. "Whiskey's hard to beat," he sang, with a look that made the line as sad as it was funny. Hood songs are almost all about redemption. The climax of "A World of Hurt," a new tune full of middle-aged wisdom on the power of love, had him shrieking "It's great to be alive!" again and again, and was so hopeful it hurt. And while there might be a song by somebody somewhere that can fire up a concert crowd the way Hood's "Let There Be Rock" can, none came to mind on this night.

-- Dave McKenna

Mission of Burma at the Black Cat

Mission of Burma has everything it needs to be the loudest band in the world -- except the volume. Saturday night at the Black Cat, the Boston quartet unleashed sheets of guitar din atop a walloping rhythm section, an attack further gnarled by live sound manipulation. Yet rather than turn it all up to 11, the group kept the level around 6.

That was no oversight. Burma's 1983 split came after singer-guitarist Roger Miller was diagnosed with severe tinnitus. Since realigning in 2002, the band has been careful to spare Miller's ears. It plays infrequently, positions speakers carefully and screens singer-drummer Peter Prescott's kit with a plexiglass shield. Such precautions could lead to timidity, but not in Burma's case. In a 90-minute performance divided into two sets and two pairs of encores, the band never gave any sign of holding itself back.

The music was perhaps even rougher than intended in places, as Burma struggled a bit to perform material from its newest and most eclectic album, "The Obliterati." Such songs as the opening "Donna Sumeria," with its disco asides, lost some of their definition as Miller concentrated on buzzing guitar. But then Burma's best-loved '80s songs, notably "Academy Fight Song" and "That's When I Reach for My Revolver," are near-shapeless ravers that coalesce thrillingly when singer-bassist Clint Conley reaches the choruses. That's just what happened at the Black Cat, where Burma proved that it could still shift from chaos to cohesion, both on the old songs and on such new ones as "Nancy Reagan's Head." If the sound wasn't deafening, it was still overwhelming.

-- Mark Jenkins