THURSDAY 6/3

WANTEDS, METRONOME
(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) Portland's Tommy Harrington doesn't like to do anything the easy way. Instead of using Photoshop, he took more than 500 pictures to capture the eerie, shadow-strewn cover shot of his debut disc Let Go Afterglow. Rather than attaching his own name to an album that he alone wrote, performed, and recorded, he selected the misleading moniker The Wanteds. And instead of penning simple songs, Harrington composes complicated pop pieces, making massive melodies out of densely programmed electronic elements, sharp guitar tones and mild-mannered vocals. It's immediately apparent how much work went into every track, but these contagiously catchy tunes are more inviting than intimidating. ANDREW MILLER



THE STANDARD
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) With its third album Wire Post to Wire, The Standard continues its evolution into an artfully obtuse entity. Its track listing chronicles nine untitled tunes, and singer Tim Putnam's vocals, a bipolar blend of hyperactive hiccups and somnolent mumbles, have made his lyrics increasingly inscrutable. Musically, the group combines the most compelling components of progressive music from the past three decades. Its throbbing basslines emulate the no-wave pulse, its ringing guitar leads echo the Bunnymen and its atmospheric keys recall the dark side of Pink Floyd. AM



CROSSTIDE, THE KILLINGTONS, THE DIVORCE
(Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside) Crosstide celebrates a new collection of songs tonight that supposedly leaves behind their lovably over-the-top emo image. It's hard to imagine the band without emo and the new songs do little to help, largely due to the fact that many of them are just revamped versions of old songs, but with more thunderous percussion and lush instrumentation to round things out. The collection has the catchiness, impeccable production values, and great songwriting we've come to expect from Crosstide, and Brett Vogel's vocals are as high-pitched and tortured as ever. If that's not something to get emotional about, I don't know what is. Just don't abbreviate it anymore; you're not allowed. And don't miss The Divorce. Their album There Will Be Blood Tonight is messy, obnoxious, and totally addictive. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS



FIRST ANNUAL HOLOCENE MINI GOLF TOURNAMENT
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrisson) See Destination Fun pg 15



WILLIE NELSON TRIBUTE: POWER OF COUNTY, MIDWESTERN, THE PALATINE CONDUCTOR, RCMP
(Billy Ray's, 2216 NE MLK) A tribute to a country legend with actual guitar plucky country bands. What are we to make of this? Where's the irony? Where are we without irony? JWS



PIZZA PARTY, THE DINGS, BACKSEAT TEACHERS
(I.C. Mummy, 332 NE San Raphael) So many want what Pizza Party just got. Made up of three ladies whose musicianship is still in the basic stages, but whose music and chemistry is straight-up magic, if Pizza Party keeps up their minimal, dark, wonderfully rudimentary punk rock, it'll end up something like Siouxsie fronting Lilliput. They've already got the stage presence (and the spookily reverbed vocals); their main singer makes sort of casual, un-self-aware eye-contact as she wails into the mic, and it's unsettling and you feel like you're witnessing a secret. It's like they don't need you, and I don't mean that in a snotty, fuck-the-audience wayÉ Pizza Party's presence is self-enclosed; they'd be having fun without you either way, and you feel special and privileged that you even get to see it. None of the validation or ginger gazes at the audienceÉ they're just playing their fucking keyboards, guitar, and drums, and making dope revolutionary witchery. Truly awesome. JULIANNE SHEPHERD



FRIDAY 6/4

JUDE
(Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) One of the most oddly underrated singer/songwriters in recent memory, Jude can sing as fast as Twista raps without losing his pristine pitch. He has pulled off falsetto funk, explored somber, sullen moods, delved into storyteller folk and sharpened his fangs for biting commentary, all without impressing the masses. On 2001's King of Yesterday, he alienated some of his fervent following with ultra-polished pop, with "Teenage Girlfriend" often cited as the most egregious offense. But even that tossed-together effort contained gems, some of which will stud this setlist. In addition to material from his hard-to-find 2003 indie album Sarah, this show should spotlight songs from his recently re-released debut disc 430 N. Harper Ave. AM



DEVENDRA BANHART, JOANNA NEWSOM, VETIVER
(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) See Music pg 19



REGGAE FASHION SHOW AND TALENT SHOWCASE: RK1, ZELLY ROCK, MYG, UNI-T, HIGHTOWER, STEVE TREES, MC NIKKO, JUMBO
(Red Sea, 318 SW 3rd) Some might say that reggae is the most neglected genre of music in Portland. Tonight is like a crash course in introducing you to what the local reggae talents are all about. Not only is tonight about fashion (see "Destination Fun" for the deets), but it features a slew of local reggae artists that you may have never heard of even though they've been right in your backyard. The most intriguing performer tonight is local African artist RK1, and his multi-linguistic rapping. Sure don't see a whole lot of that around this here lily patch. MARJORIE SKINNER



OLEANDER, DEBRIS, D59, SYX, VOICE, SERVER X
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Oleander has a heavy rock/grunge sound with really no compelling aspects at all. The vocals shift from either cloyingly "sincere" to obnoxiously rockin', and the guitar melodies are just generic enough to win this band a spot on the Spider-Man 2 soundtrack. That's not a promise or anything, but you know what I'm saying. KATIE SHIMER



VINYL KILLERS 2: BIOSONIC, CASIO CITY, DR.ILL, UNDER THE SLUMBER, ILL WILL, 1ATOM13, ELIZAR
(Liberty Hall, 311 N Ivy) On PureTone Audiotonomy v. 2, Sickbay's Dr.Ill enchanted me with a single: "My Screen (featuring Capt. Flirt)," a druggy, basement-bass number with lethargically sung vocals that'd bring pride to the deceased soul of DJ Screw, RIP. Tonight, the Vinyl Killers present a lot more dope Portland producers from the PureTone camp, plus some DJs killing vinyl. Literally killing it. JS



SATURDAY 6/5

THE RAT SHOW: THE BLACK PEPPERCORNS, THE KINGDOM, PORCH SKANK, WONDERLICK, RATT FINK
(4007 SE 64th) The Black Peppercorns, Portland's most amazing 10-year-old sisterly rock band, have had some misfortune befall them: their little rat, Moxy, had a tumor in her crotch--and no OHP! To pay the vet bills for the tumor's removal, they've organized this benefit show with themselves and their friends' bands, in their backyard. They're also roasting up some hot dogs and veggie dogs, the sales of which will go towards the tumorical bills. JS



HANDMADE BAZAAR: MARISA, THE CULOTTES, LOUNSBURY FOR
(5742 NE Mallory) You could say the annual Handmade Bazaar on Mallory is the reason people move to Portland--maybe not THE reason, but the fact that people in town can live in a house and spend all the livelong day making their own local economy via crafts like handbound books and homemade soda, and then sell it all from tables in their front yard while acoustic indiepop bands like The Culottes playÉ well, it's weirdly utopian. JS



LOCAL H, NEBULA, FIREBALLS OF FREEDOM
(Ash, 225 SW Ash) Local H's latest release, Whatever Happened to P.J. Soles?, is an awesome, ballsy rock release, replete with tough raw guitar sounds and screamy vocals that are far cooler than they are annoying. This band plus Portland's favorite rockers, Fireballs, and it's an evening to remember. KS



J MASCIS AND THE FOG, MIRAH, CALVIN JOHNSON

(Crystal, 1332 W Burnside) After 2001's excellent Advisory Committee--which, with its Phil Elverum-assisted production, was every bit as epic as a spaghetti western--where else could Ms. Mirah yom tov Zeitlyn go, but smaller? On her newest record, C'Mon Miracle, she coaxes out her sweetest lyrics, in the intimate, folky guitar style she employs live. Those witness to her numerous shows since she moved to Portland last year will likely recognize a few--or maybe that's just the sound of her voice, familiar and hopeful as bluejays. JS



MCLUSKY, OCEANSIZE, TRIPOLAR
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music pg 19



GREEN MILK FROM THE PLANET ORANGE, BILL HORIST, BNSF
(Jasmine Tree, 401 SW Harrison) Just some good down home Tokyo noise music to fill your evening with odd delight. Green Milk From the Planet Orange is improvisational and epic. Their last album Birth of the Neo Trip has three songs on it, and is an hour long. Expect little relief from the experimental barrage. JWS



VELVET REVOLVER, LIVING THINGS
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) What do you get when you take three parts Guns N' Roses (Slash, Duff McKagan, and drummer Matt Sorum), one part Stone Temple Pilots (terminal rehab patient Scott Weiland), and add a guitarist from Dave Navarro's band (Dave Kushner)? If Velvet Revolver's debut CD is any indication, the result is not quite a train wreck, but rather the B-side of the hedonistic glitter-grunge days of latter STP. And by "B-side" I don't mean rarities, I mean the forgettable, press-fast-forward-between-the-hits tracks. Even with the hints of Slash's once-powerful guitar work threaded through a couple of songs, this patent-leather-slick album is the product of one of those supergroups that only does well until people actually hear what they sound like. JENNIFER MAERZ



COCO COBRA AND THE KILLERS, RIOT-A-GO-GO, FEAR OF LITTLE MEN
(Twilight, 1420 SE Powell) Fear of Little Men has a cute sing-songy sound that is ultra listenable. I especially like their lyrics--sweet musings on normal life--and their layered guitar jam outs spiked with synthesizer, which elevate the music beyond sweet and cute. KS



SUNDAY 6/6

LARS FREDERIKSEN AND THE BASTARDS, NEKROMANTIX, ROGER MIRET AND THE DISASTERS, HUNS, HORRORPOPS
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Rancid's Tim Armstrong converted his crippling grief about last year's breakup with Distillers howler Brody Dalle into a poignant punk album, but when it came time to tour, he seemed to be running on emotional exhaust. When the visibly dazed Armstrong faltered, it fell to the group's other singer/guitarist, Lars Frederiksen, to shoulder the setlist. Though he seldom, if ever, plays tunes from his day-job gig during his solo shows, Frederiksen can generate his own moshworthy material with the Bastards. In a genre filled with old-ass men singing about farts and prom night, this group, with its working-class lyrics, gravel-gruff delivery and rugged riffs, unapolegetically caters to grown-ups, albeit adults with liberty-spike hairstyles. AM



MISSION OF BURMA, KINSKI
(Crystal, 1332 W Burnside) See Music pg 20



LOW RIDER EVOLUTION TOUR STARRING MACK 10, CHINGO BLING
(Expo Center) See Feature pg 12



NATHAN KULL, THE WET HEAVES, THE KILL ME
(Twilight Café, 1420 SE Powell) What is, in fact, a Wet Heave? Have I ever had one? Isn't it just a puke? These are the questions that plague your mind during a Wet Heaves set, which is just a big amorphous hour of junky noise and garage-gesturing abrasion, is all, accompanied by video of people Wet Heaving (I think that is called bulimia, dudes) and a diminutive vocalist squirming all on the floor like a waterless goldfish. Like a wet heave, they last longer than you want them to, but the experience is strangely life-affirming, and will likely motivate change in your day-to-day habits. JS



DJ CHEAPSHOT, DJ EVIL ONE
(East, 322 NW Everett) Styles of Beyond DJ Cheapshot magically drops in on Evil One's normal Sunday night jaunt at East, packing huge crates of that Fresh Coast hiphop funk. JS



MONDAY 6/7

ERIK FRIEDLANDER QUARTET, MTKJ QUARTET, NO. 27
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrisson) The uninitiated might hear the words jazz and cello and quartet and think Erik Friedlander's busting out with wedding-reception fodder, but his albums growl with improvisation and transfixing rhythm-based melodies. Having proffered guest work to punks/artists Courtney Love and Laurie Anderson, his compositions equally reference the vehemence of punk rock and the stabbing rhythm patterns of Gyorgy Kurtag's string quartets. He's an extremely talented player who seats his techniques at the perfect junction of delicacy and aggression. JS



BIRDS OF WAR, VEGAS, ROTTERDAM, BACKSEAT TEACHERS
(Porky's, 835 N Lombard) Katcha is a greyhound doggie that was rescued from the harsh world of racing. Then she raced onto MLK and was hit by two cars. Miraculously, she's going to be all right. The pocketbooks of her parents, however, are not. So, check out four local, little known rock bands, and help out the dog. Cuz you love dogs. Learnin' and lovin'. MS



JOSHUA JAMES, GIFFORD PINCHOT, MA FORD, FIREBALLS OF FREEDOM
(Voodoo Doughnut, 22 SW 3rd) Somehow four pretty assertive musical acts are going to cram into the 20-foot-wide Voodoo Doughnut tonight, for their one-year anniversary. If one fan for each act shows up, you won't be able to get inside, but you can stand outside and listen, or listen while waiting to get into line at whatever show is going on at Berbati's. JWS



TUESDAY 6/8

BILLY NAYER SHOW, QUEEN BEE JACKSON, XOXOX
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Fans of showtunes make it down to Dante's tonight. The Billy Nayer Show's singer Cory McAbee sounds like he's doing a commercial jingle while at the same time embracing the ridiculosity of his singing style. If you like your music fun and goofy, with an intense element of cabaret theatrics, this has plenty parts of all. KS



WEDNESDAY 6/9

QUINTRON & MISS PUSSYCAT, STORM & THE BALLS, THE PUNK GROUP
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Your orders are as follows: make like Being John Malkovich--with no thespian pretense--and climb stealthily into the brainpan of Mr. Quintron. You'll find blueprints for making music that's Le Tigre sans sociopolitical agenda. You'll experience the cajones it takes to bring puppets up on stage. You'll see him fantasize about topless girls with alabaster breasts, white elbow gloves, and baboon masks. And, whilst sitting on the gleaming white bone-edge of his eye sockets and staring out his huge dome-like eyes, you'll watch him hunkering down in the studio recording hockey-game organ solos, his disco beats more rave than new wave. ADAM GNADE



STREET BRATS, DISKORDS, PLAN R
(Solid State, 898 SE Ash) The Street Brats are an adorable punk outfit of scruffy haired boys from Chicago. Beyond their cuteness, they are fairly straightforward in their delivery of poorly annunciated, standard serving size, adolescent punk. YeahÉ it'sÉ pretty tired. The Diskords are scuzzier sounding, and more varietous, and worth checking out for their confident delivery, albeit hit and miss. MS



OXFORD COLLAPSE, FATAL FLYING GUILLOTEENS, THIS MOMENT IN BLACK HISTORY
(Twilight, 1420 SE Powell) On Some Wilderness, Oxford Collapse's first record, the NYC trio proves itself spazzy in the best kind of way--not overly premeditated or confrontational, but a chaos of pop music, unexpected and enthusiastic cymbal hits, Head on the Door style bass-riffs meshing into frantic tambourine and yelpy vocals, like they're building their music on hope and eagerness and nothing else. JS