CRAZY TRAIN, MOTORBREATH, LIVE WIRE
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
RJD2, PIGEON JOHN, HAPPY CHICHESTER
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
DINOSAUR JR., AWESOME COLOR
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See Music, pg. 17.
LAURA GIBSON, SHELLEY SHORT, JOHN WEINLAND
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 19.
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) The sisters Faussart, tight afroed Hélène and slight spritelike Célia, perform a polemic of plurality. The duo touts what their native France effaced long before the recent election of right-wing president Nicolas Sarkozy. The same state that welcomed segregation-fleeing African American expats rejected its African and Carribean former colonial subjects. But multicultural and transnational, Les Nubians' harmonies provide safe harbor for all—language barriers be damned. When they glide onstage, the senior and more serious Hélène holds down the low end and gets low Cameroonian style while the ever-beaming Célia bounds across the stage reaching for higher notes. Favorites from their soulful debut, Princesses Nubiennes, and reggae-tinged follow-up, One Step Forward, will likely sandwich selections from their last creative excursion, the 2005 spoken word collection, Echos. JALYLAH BURRELL
THE DEAD SCIENCE, GO FEVER, VALEDICTION
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Fresh off the road supporting those screamsters in the Blood Brothers, Seattle's the Dead Science blesses our burg with a rare performance. The band has the chops to make the freest of free jazz seem palatable, while ignoring the rattling bones of the pop music skeletons lurking in their closets. Led by occasional Mercury freelancer Sam Mickens, the band recently had their Frost Giant album released in LP format by local label Marriage Records. It's an odd mix, the pop and the experimental, but like their pals in Deerhoof, the Dead Science can walk the thin line between the two worlds. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
THE HEAVENLY STATES, THE MINDERS
(Lola's Room, 1332 W Burnside) For a band that rose to prominence by appearing on a limited-edition EP (for Devil in the Woods magazine in 2003) with Coldplay and the Postal Service, the Heavenly States have an exciting sound refreshingly free of saccharine. Frontman Ted Nesseth plays upside-down lefty guitar like Cobain, lisps endearingly like Brock, and hurls vocals in a near-spoken rant. It's kind of like the Dead Milkmen guy, except with a coarse, guttural forcefulness that is all his own. Behind him, the band offsets everything with doo-wop vocal hooks, sporadic beautiful string arrangements, and even this occasional Yoakam-style rockabilly thing that, beyond all reason, works. JUSTIN W. SANDERS
(Glenn & Viola Walters Cultural Arts Center, 527 East Main, Hillsboro) What the holy hell is Colin "the man from down under, where women glow and men plunder, you better run, you better take cover" Hay doing in Hillsboro? The former Men at Work frontman has flown under the radar with a solo career that has (wisely) not relied on SoundScan swipes; instead Hay's music has been well-licensed, appearing on such Zach Braff-related projects as Scrubs and the Garden State soundtrack. None of this explains why he is kicking it in the 'burbs, but you might as well take this opportunity to roll on west and see Aussie's finest in action. EAC
MEAT PUPPETS, KIRKWOOD-DELLINGER
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
SLUM VILLAGE, PHAT CAT, LIL DILLA, DJ ATM
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See Music, pg. 19.
(Glenn & Viola Walters Cultural Arts Center, 527 East Main, Hillsboro) See Thursday's listing.
JOSS STONE, RYAN SHAW, JAVIER
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Oh, Joss, what have you done? Believe us, no one wanted you to drop the whole neo-soul thing more than people who had heard your last two records, but seriously, what's up with you these days? Your new record, Introducing Joss Stone, is a mess. We know, you wanted to head into more of an R&B direction, so you hired some dude who's worked with the Roots. But it didn't work. Then you dyed your hair pink and began openly bemoaning your record company in interviews. Again, we weren't moved. So we're gonna level with you here. While no one is dying for you to once again bust out the toe rings, for the love of God, this funky white girl crap has really got to stop. TREVOR KELLEY
LIVE WIRE!: DOLOREAN, ASHLEIGH FLYNN, RALPH HUNTLEY & THE MUTTON CHOPS
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Now that pledge week is over, you can flip that dial back to OPB just in time for a new episode of Live Wire!. The forever-underrated Dolorean caps off tonight's music portion of the show. His latest, You Can't Win, is a stiff shot of the drunken truth, examining the difficulty of living a life on the road as an indie musician. He's a worthy cause, even if it's at a pledge of just one dollar a day. Listener-supported Dolorean: cheaper than your daily cup of coffee. EAC
POISON IDEA, LOPEZ, LEGEND OF DUTCH SAVAGE, PIERCED ARROWS
(Ash St. Saloon, 225 SW Ash) Hey! Did you hear? Former Dead Moon couple (and local heroes) Fred and Toody Cole have a new band! They're called Pierced Arrow, and tonight's their first show. No word yet on what they sound like, but you can bet dimes to dollars that they fucking wail. Get there early because the Coles open, but stick around to catch fellow Portland punk stalwarts Poison Idea, who soldier on after the death of their legendary guitarist, Pig Champion—and if there's anything right in the world, Pig's life will be celebrated tonight. In itself, this show is tribute and testament to Portland's long and vibrant punk rock history, a nod to the past as boots stomp onward. Oh, and did I mention that all this shit is free? That's right, Jack. Zero dollars. Hallelujah. ANDREW R. TONRY
FISHBONE, THE EXPENDABLES, SMOOCHKNOB
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) While Fishbone was partying at Ground Zero—a reference forever stained by the smoldering wreckage of 9/11—baby bands like Red Hot Chili Peppers and No Doubt were eating their lunch. The "no worries" brodeo SoCal groove thing is all Fishbone, but their sketchy track record and inconsistent output always made them the bridesmaid to other local bands that cashed in on their influence. It's been years since the band was at their peak, but tonight is an excuse for you to forget about all the clones in Slightly Stoopid and Sublime, and give Angelo Moore's funky project a little credit for what they have done. EAC
MOTHER HIPS, HISS GOLDEN MESSENGER, CABINESSENCE
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The Mother Hips were gone and now they aren't. Kiss the Crystal Flake, the band's first record since 1991's Green Hills of Earth, is a telling indication that this is a tremendous thing. It is a splintering set of classic power-pop in the same print as that which Roy Orbison and Buddy Holly started and Tom Petty last did in this all-American way. There is some Petty in the manner in which Mother Hips lead singer Tim Bluhm sings, as well as some of the general ideas that Chicago's late and great Fig Dish explored sonically, and done up in a way that the Old 97's might have tried. It's a killer comeback from a band that shouldn't have ever gone away. SEAN MOELLER
EDIE CAREY, RAINA ROSE
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Edie Carey's biography devotes several sentences to her abilities as a storyteller and jokester (a banter-er, if you will) in the live setting. I haven't seen this East Coaster do her thing, so I can't attest, but it's good to know, because her songs by themselves aren't quite enough to get me out to this show. Her breathy vocals, droopy melodies, and generic, ultimately empty heartbreak lyrics ("If I start to cry I may not stop/Love runs dry, I run off") are a little too derivative of the glossy pop that passes itself off as country on CMT. Carey's singing range is kind of funny, too. Appropriately gentle and sweet on the high notes, the bottom falls out in the lower register. Sing from the gut, girl! JWS
DMBQ, JACKIE-O MOTHERFUCKER, AKIMBO, RABBITS
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) This is a Grade-A wallop of a bill all around, but DMBQ and Jackie-O Motherfucker upgrades will make tonight's lineup go from "should see" to "must see." Jackie-O Motherfucker, one of oldest musical institutions still left standing in Portland, have been rocking the sprawling free jams since 1994, back when experimental music was only hip with social pariahs and aging brainiacs. Tokyo's DMBQ are possibly the best live rock band in existence today, with their smelting white-hot riffs and superhuman bursts of adrenaline. Even if you hate rock—and God help you then—you will not be able to witness these Japanese terrors without pissing your pants in awe. JOSH BLANCHARD
SOL.ILLAQUISTS OF SOUND, DJ J. STORM, GREY MATTER, COPACRESCENT
(Lola's Room, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
BEN GIBBARD, DAVID BAZAN, JOHNATHAN RICE
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Once More with Feeling, pg. 27.
(Ash St. Saloon, 225 SW Ash) True to their name, Boy Eats Drum Machine like to chow down, even when they should be focusing on more important issues. Their online "recording diary" has some information on Two Ghosts, their just-finished album, but it also opens up discussion of the best Mexican and Indian restaurants in town. It's a heated debate, and I welcome any recording blog that has more substance than the usual boring chatter about how great mixing is going. When it comes to talking about how much more "mature" your new album sounds, or, say, tacos, always go with the tacos. Then again, BEDM dares to not list the classic Plainfield's Mayur in their Portland's best Indian restaurants section. Holy Shiva! Have you had their Bhel Salad? It's amazing. This is what happens when you eat too many damn drum machines, boy. EAC
THE BLACK HALOS, DRUNK ON POWER, THE PEOPLE NOW, HUTSON
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) The Black Halos have been recklessly kicking up dust for 13 years now. No wonder the band took an 18-month break a while back—being in a band that long and not smothering your bandmates with unsold concert T-shirts is a respectable task. Call me crazy, but singer Billy Hopeless' voice is a dead ringer for a young (read: skinny) Greg Dulli. It's a liquor-soaked, sinful delivery, one that suits the Halos' punk-meets-G'N'R sound quite well. EAC
LAVENDER DIAMOND, THE WATSON TWINS, ALELA DIANE
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 17.
BOBBY CONN, GET HUSTLE, GARLAND RAY PROJECT
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Bobby Conn scares the piss out of me. Seriously. Tonight I am Depends-ing it, as Conn is a one-of-a-kind performer who works in the medium of confrontation, often eerily making deep eye contact with each and everyone in the crowd. While he plays songs from his brand-new album (and rock opera) King for a Day, it's like he's staring deep within your soul. It's kind of creepy. Besides the whole demon behind the mic thing, Conn is a rare frontman whose artistic glam pop doesn't care for any preset musical categories. King for a Day is his finest work, a boot-stomp boogie of '70s arena rock theatrics combined with the sinfulness of a Bowie/Reed/Iggy backstage hot tub party. Dude is nuts, but in a good way. EAC
AMON TOBIN, DJ TAN'T
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE
(Memorial Coliseum, 300 Winning Way) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
ORDER OF THE GASH, DETERRORFORMED
(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) North Portland party thrashers Order of the Gash soak themselves in fake blood. Then guitarist Melissa, bassist Paul, and drummer Aris bash their way through short sets of chugging instrumental grind that raise horns and cheap beers into the upper stratospheres of basement roofs all across town. The most exciting local bands are those that show improvement with every performance. O of the G are sincere about their metal and about having good-natured fun. Seeing them at a low-key neighborhood spot like The Know is a no-brainer. Just don't get too much fake blood in your beer; that will make you sickie sickie. NATHAN CARSON
KING KONG, DRUNKEN PRAYER, THE HEADLINERS
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Slint alert! Ethan Buckler (he played on Tweez, AKA the record you probably don't have because you know it's no Spiderland) is also the main-monkey behind the bizarre King Kong. More B-52's than sulking post-rock, King Kong are a roving dance party for a fanbase not known for its dancing skills. But worry not, flat-footed indierocker, it's the quantity of the dance, not the quality. Plus you are a Slint fan, so odds are, dancing is not your steez, or perhaps, your Tweez. Unless, of course, there is a dance that can incorporate crossing your arms while you hold up the venue walls as you lean against them. Also, it's worth noting that Pete Townsend also plays for King Kong. No, not him, this is someone whose parents most likely were pinball wizards who hit the uh, multiball, when conceiving their child during the second half of Live at Leeds. Every day I thank the lord that my name is not Magic Bus. EAC
THE BAD PLUS, MARCUS EATON
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) On paper, the Bad Plus should have been a quirky little novelty that amused us for a few months back in 2001, and then disappeared. Instead, this drums/bass/piano jazz trio, which has a penchant for reworking rock and pop songs, continues to transcend the gimmick, churning out groundbreaking album after groundbreaking album. While it's the cover songs that get the most attention, their real skill lies in arranging their own material—jazz stripped down to its core and then pieced back together slightly askew. Every bit of the Bad Plus is jazz, yet they function more as post-rock—in fact, they may be the best post-rock act around. And they're playing pre-rock music. Whoa. It's like a snake eating its own tail, man. SCOTT MOORE
THE AUDITION, MY AMERICAN HEART, NEW ATLANTIC, THE GRADUATE, 1997
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Say hello to the latest Victory Records emo band. Done? Okay, you can say good-bye to them now. The Chicago-based Victory churns out Tiger Beat-cute emo boys with assembly-line efficiency, pushing out to the MySpace masses and then kicking them to the curb when they don't move enough units. The Audition are the latest in this human cloning experiment, another in a long line of cookie-cutter bands that look, act, and sound so painfully similar that it's amazing their fans can tell them apart. Will they sell enough to make the bosses proud? Do you care? Yeah, me neither. EAC