Prior to the curtain rose for Dr. John last evening, an antique jukebox on the side of the stage piped out a crackly boogie-woogie track from his new album, Locked Down. An MC appeared onstage and dialed down the jukebox’s volume until finally it clicked to silence, then a frenetic snare roll cued in the band and the fatback beat. Dr. John appeared, hunched above a Wurlitzer piano in a brilliant purple suit, his face hidden behind dark sunglasses and his jazzman’s fedora. He was decked out with his trademark accoutrements: beads and teeth strung close to his neck, totem-pole cane at his side. A cool, confident New Orleans drawl emerged from his wrinkled mouth. At 71, Malcolm John Rebennack Jr. is an old man. But his band’s potent sound and targeted energy pushed the New Orleans legend into new sonic territory.

Rebennack is in the middle of a 3-week residency at the Brooklyn Academy of Music’s Howard Gilman Opera Property. This weekend’s shows highlight his new album, Locked Down, produced by the Black Keys’ singer-guitarist Dan Auerbach. An early incarnation of the studio band jammed on a loose set of Dr. John and NOLA funk requirements at last year’s Bonnaroo festival. New music was later on composed, then honed into a razor-sharp set of fresh, funky tracks crystallized by Auerbach’s keen ear for riffs and beats. The band’s members – among them Leon Michels (baritone sax, keys, vibes), Nick Movshon (bass), Max Weissenfeldt (drums), Dave Man (trumpet), Aaron Johnson (trombone) and Yoshi Takemasa (percussion) – are all essential figures in the cabal of New York-centric musicians who record for Truth and Soul and Daptone records. Matched with Auerbach’s Midwestern garage-rock buddy Brian Olive and the gospel-singing McCrary Sisters, the finish end result sounds retro, but eludes simple categorization. Locked Down typically sounds as considerably like a room-aged Captain Beefheart composition as it does Ethiopian jazz.

The Opera House was a plush, cosmopolitan setting for the Locked Down live set. A sober, attentive audience obtained less of a rock &amp roll present and a lot more of a significant-faced exhibition of this record’s exclusive sound. Onstage, Rebennack’s demeanor was wry and reflective. He was light on banter and to the point, far more subdued than his voodoo-fueled alter ego. But when Rebennack nailed his skewed, percussive Farfisa solo on the second song of the evening, the single “Revolution,” it was a wizened incarnation of his very good-instances hustler persona. He perched calmly in the middle of a semi-circle of keyboards (his altar), with a lyrics binder open in front of him (his spellbook) and a single hand scampering across the Farfisa, as if with a mind of its personal.

The band executed each and every Locked Down track with amazing precision, maintaining the recordings’ tight song structures and allowing for only the most judicious solos and breaks – no jams. That becoming stated, German drummer Max Weissenfeldt deftly maneuvered through complicated, polyrhythmic beats. He was the quirkiest player and the most entertaining to view, preferring to channel an uptight James Black than the chiller Zigaboo Modeliste. Collectively with Movshon’s rock strong bass playing and Michels’ bouncy baritone sax lines, Rebennack presided more than a perky ensemble bursting with power.

On the album highlight “Ice Age,” Auerbach and Olive harmonized a syncopated guitar line whilst the rhythm section made a galloping beat. Rebennack spat and growled more than his spazzy Farfisa. The crowd cheered when he stood up in the direction of the end of the song to pirouette and dance a stiff boogie across the stage just before settling down to his Hammond. As the night’s bandleader, Auerbach was restrained and reverent. Enthusiasts of the Keys’ earlier records would have appreciated how he tastefully slipped his meditative Kimbrough-isms on the guitar into band’s tight, funky sound, specifically on the extended intro to “You Lie.” The McCrary Sisters dazzled on “God’s Confident Very good,” a jubilant, hyperactive gospel amount.

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As the hour passed midnight on the final night of the South by Southwest festival and conference in Austin, Texas, country firebrand Lydia Loveless may not have known it, but she was echoing the blues that had been sung by the industry the last five days: “Why don’t I get paid to feel this way?”

When Loveless sings the line, she does so with traces of scorn and bitterness. Her voice is sweet, but there’s some damage around the edges, either from sleeping too little, smoking too often or drinking too much. When business executives sang the blues at SXSW, their frustration was pointed at the diminishing returns of new business models. 

Someone, of course, is footing the bill for this.

PHOTOS: South by Southwest

SXSW is five days of near 24-7 music, with nightly showcases and full-day parties sponsored by shoe companies and snack chip outfits. For the more than 2,000 acts that made the trek to perform at one of more than 90 venues, the hope was to gain a little momentum, maybe score a bit of press and, if lucky, play an afternoon or evening party that had corporate expense accounts to drain. Acts, at least of the non-superstar Jay-Z-level variety, are said to be able to command as much as $ 50,000 for headlining shots at some of SXSW’s parties.

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