Can I go on record as saying that the new subgenre of “dad-rock” is both terribly offensive and, in many cases, eerily accurate? For fear of angry, Baby Boomer retaliation, I hesitate to categorize San Diego’s The Bigfellas as dad-rock. But what else is there? How do you describe a band so very un-hip, with its early ‘70s MOR affectations, but so goofily fun? There’s very little that’s edgy about this band, despite having songs called “420” and “I Wish I Were Gay.” But the songs are witty, and it’s easy to hear the band’s tongues planted firmly in their cheeks. It’s not cool for a music columnist to say so, but, well, I’d rather hear dad-rock any day of the week than Animal Collective’s newest LP.

[Le Voyeur, 10 p.m., no cover, 404 Fourth Ave. E., Olympia, 360.943.5710]