If one of the surest signs of great art is great disagreement among its observers, then Deerhoof has to be an act for all times. The San Francisco band's 2005 LP The Runners Four is — like most of its LPs — one of the most beloved and reviled albums released that year. How can something be "a no-half-stepping opus, a defining statement" and "crap" at the same time? Deerhoof's music seems to ask: How can it not? Beauty may be in the ear of the beholder, but identity and inspiration are locked boxes to which there is only one key (and sometimes none at all). This is the jigsaw puzzle Satomi Matsuzaki and Greg Saunier have been scattering for 20 years. In only eight words, the band's bio (of all things) pretty much nails it: "What is Deerhoof really? Hell if we know." I'll give it a shot: Deerhoof is slumber-party soundtracking, hair flying and pillow fighting. Deerhoof is on-kilter. Deerhoof is papier-mache and pyromania, accidental mastery and intentional flatulence. Deerhoof is the hack and the hacksaw, The Magic (Polyvinyl) and the trick. Blank Spell and Corpus Cambre open. Tickets $14.