Antony Hegarty has an arresting voice—haunted; andro-gynous; slightly lisping; able to flit from a low, resonant purr to a weightless, trembling vibrato in one perfectly controlled breath. With Antony and the Johnsons, Hegarty opens that voice and lets it rain down over his own spare piano and his band's adventurous orchestral instrumentation—singing songs about life, death, and all the confusions in between. Their latest album, The Crying Light, is a compact and affecting symphony. Hegarty and company's live performances are just as stunning. (Moore Theatre, 1932 Second Ave, 467-5510. 8 pm, $27.50, all ages.)