Galactic shows it knows what rock ‘n’ roll is all about - New Orleans: Band keeps crowd dancing and singing.

If this is the way they do it in N’awlins, then bring it on, bring it on. Without fanfare or any lengthy introductions, Galactic took the stage Saturday night at Alyeska Resort’s Daylodge and commenced a relentless barrage of scalding and sassy funk, R&B, Rawk, boogie and jazz – real jazz, not that syrupy smooth stuff – that will forever raise the bar for concerts in Anchorage.

In other words, rock ‘n’ roll may have died in 1973, according to pop music critic Lester Bangs, but the six-piece outfit hailing from the Big Easy might well elicit the genre’s resurrection. But you’d never know it from the band’s unassuming demeanor.

Dressed in demure slacks and shirts, these saviors – bassist Robert Mercurio, drummer Stanton Moore, Jeff Raines on guitar, Rich Vogel on Hammond B3 organ and keyboards and Ben Ellman on saxophone – resembled music nerds rather than potential rock gods. Only singer Theryl “Houseman” deClouet stood out in his scarlet get-up. And he wasn’t onstage all that much. Matter of fact, the guys plowed through eight instrumentals before deClouet ever uttered a note.

Which is good.

Not to discount deClouet’s vamping; he has a great set of pipes. But the vocals seemed to hamper the rest of the band’s innovative energy. Anyway, deClouet dedicated “Little Miss Lover” to the ladies and then sax and guitar flirted over driving drums, building to near circuit-breaking intensity.

Call it Frenzy.

Hot and humid to begin with, the Daylodge heated up with rabid dancers. Red, green, blue, and pink lights occasionally seared with white, swirled and strobed as sax notes tumbled from that big, brass horn and vibrated across the stage, eventually diving into the loosely dressed crowd. Ellman reached deep into his diaphragm for those squealing highs and bottom-end bass notes.

The Hammond organ haunted the background, frequently flirting with sultry wah-wah guitar. Throughout the more than two-hour show, the bass pumped out mesmerizing rhythm and the drums – well, the bespectacled Moore kept rolling up his sleeves. He’s a crazy man, pounding out beats, standing to pummel the cymbals. He’d worked up a sweaty froth by the second number.

Local percussionist Michael Allen called Moore “the new Gene Krupa,” experimenting with crazy beats. Krupa was the big-band boogie, be-bop king of the ‘40s and ‘50s.

After a 10-song set, the band needed a break. And so did the dancers.

Round Two, as DeClouet called it, featured “Ice Cold Dream,” “Love on the Run,” “Baker’s Dozen,” “Metermaid,” “Hit the Wall” and “Tiger Roll/Space Headz March.” No banter between songs, one number segued into another and conjured the ghosts of such legendary acts as Morphine, Led Zeppelin, Deep Purple, Cream, and Spencer Davis group.

The very nature of Galactic’s vibe invites a release of inhibitions. It’s a physical connection that demands movement and free-spirited celebration. A presence and near-wanton beat that connects with primal urges, like cavemen and women dancing and wailing around a fire.

And just when you think you can’t get any higher, can’t endure the sheer joy of the music, Moore ups the tempo, alters the beat, and the band takes the crowd to a new level.

“The drummer and the bass player are really locked in,” said one reveler.

For an encore, deClouet thanked the crowd for “accepting the funk” and then advised, “If you know the words, then sing along. If you don’t, then just shake your booty.” The guys then launched into Bob Dylan’s “Rainy Day Woman,” singing “everybody must get stones.”