Cosmonauts are ear-bleed loud — I’m guessing they blow out a lot of amplifiers.

As a recording unit, Cosmonauts are so tied in to pop culture’s past that they sound like many eras and genres all at once. The dudes can shift around from jam-band stuff not unlike demos Pink Floyd might have made for Dark Side of the Moon to Revolver-era Beatles to INXS. They make broad musical announcements out of this tool box of hit sounds, and they build them on multi-layers of unresolved tension and with that studied vocal indifference unique to indie rockers. Psych rock? Noise? Big reverb? Yep, they’ve got all that too. The live show is where Cosmonauts rubber meets the road.

Unlike the tighter assembly of a Cosmonauts record, on stage their energy is perforated with feedback and guitar effects. The band’s videos are wiseass funny, even borderline softcore porn at times, but the live show is a different species entirely. It is ear-bleed loud — I’m guessing they blow out a lot of amplifiers.

Cosmonauts started in Fullerton, CA, in 2009. They began putting out records in 2010; their third full-length, Persona Non Grata, saw the light of day in Pitchfork, the culture gurus of all things online music in 2013. That’s pretty much where Cosmonauts live, in a virtual Instagram-and-download Tweet-fest targeted at their 20-something constituents.

Not to be confused with the Cosmonauts from the UK, or Cosmonaut from New York, Cosmonauts are a quartet living and working in Orange County. Critics have called their musical aggregation “languid, sexy, and magical,” but Cosmonauts themselves call it garage-pop. Now on the road in support of their newest song collection, A-OK!, the ’Nauts are in that orbit where they need to grow a bigger fan base of cassette lovers who can relate to their spaced-out-gig in order to stay aloft. “Fly 23,” sings Alexander Ahmadi at the conclusion of “Shaker,” “there’s nothing I don’t need.” Nothing, that is, except more Facebook likes.

Tropical Popsicle and Spooky Cigarette also perform.