As of 8:50 p.m. last Saturday night, the San Francisco–based trio Black Rebel Motorcycle Club were still finishing up a quick soundcheck in front of the small crowd that had already begun to gather inside T.T. the Bear’s Place. Ten minutes later, following a short break, the three pasty-white, black-clad, skinny rock dudes had returned to the stage amid a howl of bass and guitar feedback to begin their 45 minute set. Thanks in large part to the night’s de facto headliner, the much buzzed-about Strokes from NYC (the local band Mistle Thrush would actually close out the show, but the people who’d begun lining up outside the club at 9 sharp were clearly there for the Strokes), the room was rapidly reaching capacity as BRMC launched into their first song, a churning mass of overdriven bass, heavily reverbed guitar distortion, and primal pounding drums.

It was the second time I’d seen the band: a couple of months ago they got stuck doing a mercilessly early short opening set for the Waterboys at Avalon but still rose to the occasion. And despite the rushed soundcheck, they seemed much more in their element this time around, playing to a full house of hip rock fans. But it’s still hard to fathom what Virgin had in mind when it signed the band and then released their debut CD, B.R.M.C., a few months ago. Sure, moptopped singer/guitarist Peter Hayes is the son of Michael Been, who fronted the ’80s band the Call and aided in the production of B.R.M.C. But next to progeny like Sean Lennon, Rufus Wainwright, and even Tal Bachman, that doesn’t exactly qualify Hayes as rock royalty. More to the point, BRMC have chosen a sound, wardrobe, and (hair)style that owes enormously to the post-Psychocandy art-damaged garage rock of the Jesus and Mary Chain, a Brit band who never had much luck in the US.

Still, B.R.M.C. is one of the cooler little rock albums to surface under the radar of mainstream radio so far this year. At T.T.’s the band had little trouble re-creating the sensual darklands vibe of “Red Eyes and Tears” and the ominous barbed-wire kiss of “Rifles.” For the closing number, the somewhat anthemic “Whatever Happened to My Rock ’n’ Roll (punk song),” both Hayes and bassist Robert Turner pumped the distortion levels on their instruments up toward the Psychocandy threshold and traded verses about falling in love with a “sweet sensation” and giving their hearts to a “simple chord,” leaving little doubt as to where they found the stylized blueprint for their rock and roll.