I don't know anything about applying warpaint, but I imagine the process is ominous, ritualistic and somewhat haphazard. So goes Warpaint, the all-female L.A. act playing The Summit on Saturday.

I don't know anything about applying warpaint, but I imagine the process is ominous, ritualistic and somewhat haphazard. So goes Warpaint, the all-female L.A. act playing The Summit on Saturday.

These gals make dark music, often slow and stuck in minor keys. They pay tribute to indie femme touchstones like Sonic Youth, Azure Ray and Tegan and Sara, hop-scotching through styles but always maintaining their foreboding mystique.

They're haunted most often by the specter of Cat Power; "Billie Holiday," their dour re-working of Mary Wells' "My Guy," could have been cribbed directly from Chan Marshall's nervous-breakdown era.