You have to give yourself over to The Music, the Leeds, England, band with the portentous name that makes it impossible to search for on the Web. You have to suspend your cynicism, bite your tongue, choke off your giggles. If you manage to, there’s pleasure to be had. And pleasure was had at the band’s sold-out show at the Bowery Ballroom on Wednesday night, which had one of the most energized and unabashed audiences I’ve seen in New York.

The first thing to get over is the Music’s youthful appearance. Singer Rob Harvey is a bobblehead Robert Plant with shaggy hair covering his eyes and nose. He wore a long-sleeved T-shirt that his hands kept disappearing into and what looked like a judo belt in his flare bottom jeans. The bassist was buzzcut and baby-faced. The drummer had the shy smile of someone you might be paired with in a big brother program. They all look about 16 years-old – combined. (They’re closer to 20.)

The second thing to overcome is Harvey’s voice. Don’t get me wrong, he’s got an incredible one: piercing, with a silvery edge. It sounded so clean live that I found myself watching his mouth move to ensure he wasn’t lip-synching. (He wasn’t.) But it comes a little too close to Scorpions or Skid Row vocal fireworks for my taste. He’s given to the same excesses as Justin Hawkins, the histrionic lead singer of the in-joke British gag band the Darkness, but Harvey takes himself completely seriously.

Watching the Music perform brings to mind a high school talent show. They’re a bunch of freshmen misfits laying it all on the line. They’ll either be heroes or pariahs at the lunch table the next day, but nothing in between.

This isn’t so far from the truth, actually. The Music formed in the band room of Brigshaw High School in Leeds in 1999. They quickly became one of the most hyped groups in hype-happy England. The BBC called them the best unsigned band in the country. NME, in an uncharacteristic show of reserve, touted them as “potentially the most important group since Oasis.” In the U.K., this is no faint praise. The Music’s eponymous debut went to number four in the U.K. in early 2002. They came to the Bowery last week to build anticipation for their follow-up, “Welcome To the North,” out this fall.

The band’s sound might be described as post-techno prog-rock. It owes to a U.K. tradition that includes Led Zeppelin, the Stone Roses, and the Happy Mondays. But to American ears, it will sound like a rave-up Jane’s Addiction. Bassist Stuart Coleman – he of the baby face – plays trashy funk lines a la Dave Navarro. One new song in their set, “Breakin’,” sounded like Jane’s Addiction’s “Stop” remixed by an Ibiza superstar DJ.

The DJ is actually an important reference here. Although most of the Music’s instruments are played live – there are a few techno beats and vocal and guitar effects the band members aren’t responsible for – they shape each song like a mini DJ set. Everything is calculated to manipulate the energy level of the crowd: build and release, build and release.

The songs Wednesday were always slipping into sludgy instrumental sections that sound like somebody messing with the equalizer, but these existed solely for contrast. Each time, the song would emerge washed and vibrant, led by crisp guitar melodies, snapping drum beats, and Harvey’s plangent vocals.

The songs topped out at the same BPM as a dancing heartbeat. Perhaps they were calibrated to Harvey’s own, as he danced constantly through the set, executing a series of club moves – high-stepping legs, glowstick arms – that only look good when you’re really really high.

The lyrics consisted of repeated phrases – mostly unintelligible – fired off at all different trajectories. They were designed for percussive effect as much as content. Most songs devolved sooner or later into scatting. The snippets you could catch suggested an earnest, pass-the-water-bong profundity: “what do you see when you close your eyes? / how do you feel when you sleep at night? / maybe it’s time you opened up your mind,” sang Harvey.

Epic, dude, epic.

***

At a free show last week at Pier 54, Robert Pollard of indie stalwarts Guided by Voices said to the audience, “21 years of rock ‘n’ roll, 40 more!” The crowd cheered the idea, all the while knowing that GBV is in fact retiring. Their final show will be December 31 at the Metro in Chicago. The final GBV album, “Half Smiles of the Decomposed,” is out today on Matador Records. Let the long victory lap begin.

The Dayton, Ohio, band is really just Pollard and a constantly changing cast of musical collaborators. He’s been incredibly prolific working in this fashion, producing 20-some albums in 20 years.

Pollard has always delighted in clever word play, lo-fi production, and chimey pop melodies. There are no hit singles, and few stylistic shifts. Instead, every new release sounds like an unearthed classic from some early 1990s cult favorite.

“Half Smiles of the Decomposed” is no exception. Songs like “Sons of Apollo” suggest a minimalist Who-inspired ambition and grandeur. But simpler pleasures can be found in the easy, “Free Falling” vibe of songs like “Girls of Wild Strawberries.”

In retiring, GBV will walk away with neither a gold watch nor a gold record, but their swan song should garner plenty of attention.