THURSDAY 12/2

THEBROTHEREGG, DEAREST, CROWN, WOW AND FLUTTER
(Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside) Thebrotheregg has a new album, Aortica Mor, which features 17 tracks of frontman Adam Goldman's quietly lovely songwriting. Brimming with gentle string and keyboard arrangements, it's hard to imagine a live performance of this stuff doing anything but putting you to sleep, so you'll have to try to start a fight or something if you're feeling hyper. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS



THE COUP, LIBRETTO, DJ IZM
(Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) The talented Boots Riley of the Coup is still under the impression that the revolution is going to happen, that capitalism will finally collapse under the weight of its own contradictions, and that America's poor are on the verge of being transformed from debt-shackled consumers into a liberation army. Seriously, I don't think Boots has ever written a rap that's not about the Leben und Tod struggle between those who have more than everything and those who have less than nothing. CHARLES MUDEDE



SPARTA, FURTHER SEEMS FOREVER, COPELAND, SUNSHINE
(Bossanova, 722 E Burnside) Would At the Drive-In just reform already? Not that I was ever all that big an ATDI fan, mind you, but the bands that have formed from their ashes--namely Sparta and the Mars Volta--are enough to make me start a letter writing campaign. In this instance, we'll call Sparta the lesser of two evils (as the shitstorm that was the last Mars Volta record could hardly be topped)--an oppressively uninspired radio rock band that carefully shaves off any of the even remotely interesting edges of their former band. Or, put more succinctly--they toured with Incubus. Seriously. Porcelain, their latest full length out on Geffen, is an hour's worth of impenetrable monotony--the one time I tried to listen to it, I completely forgot that it was on for a full half hour. ZAC PENNINGTON



TELEPHONE, RECALL SEVEN, TYPHOON KILLER
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Forget dreamboat Johnny Knoxville and come celebrate the birthday of one of the less glamorous Jackass stuntmen, Danger Ehren. For his B-Day he gets: Telephone, the much loved band who sound both referential and innovative--but who has time for dates and numbers when there's dancing to be done? For reals. Plus Recall Seven, some local yokels playing pretty basic indie rock, but with a few intriguing and appreciated twists--I wouldn't call them a good "party" band, but it ain't my birthday. Also don't miss the boys of Typhoon Killer, who had this great idea to combine skillful musicianship with no-bullshit punk rock. (Bullshit punk rock is waaayyy better without skillful musicianship.) MARJORIE SKINNER



OCEAN BLUE, TEA FOR JULIE
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Hershey, Pennsylvania's Ocean Blue have been unassumingly trudging around for 17 years, converting their Anglophilia into a few Modern Rock hits in '89 before fading into obscurity. But on 2004's Waterworks EP, they surprisingly sound like a band hungry and firing on almost all cylinders. Waterworks encompasses chiming, romantic dream pop powered by the immortally funky beat to the Monkees' "Mary, Mary"; sunshiny pop à la the Lovin' Spoonful that fills you with optimism against your better judgment; ELP-indebted prog; and more. If you told me that I'd like something by these mopes in 2004, I'd have laughed you out of the room, if not punched you. Joke's on me, I guess. DAVE SEGAL



FRIDAY 12/3

JT DONALDSON & LANCE DESARDI
(Level, 13 NW 6th) Donaldson and DeSardi (known together as Undercover Agency) stride smack down the middle of house music's road. Their sets lean heavily on smooth, amiable, vocal-centric tracks, with occasional detours down quirkier side streets. It's hard to imagine their selections blowing your mind, but these seasoned jocks surely will keep you swiveling even if they never elevate you to "holy shit!" peaks. Tonight they celebrate the release of their San Francisco SessionsVolume 5 mix CD. DAVE SEGAL



KELLY CLARKSON
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) I have one message for you: Don't hate the playa, hate the game! I am fully aware of your hatred for Kelly Clarkson, and for what you see as her pre-packaged rise to fame on American Idol. But you are wrong, wrong, WRONG. Regardless of where she is, or how she got there, Kelly sings like a goddamn angel--but like every other slave to the corporate music machine, she is forced to sing songs that makes one want to jam an ice pick into the roof of one's mouth. THIS IS NOT HER FAULT. Kelly Clarkson will require your patience if she is to gain enough autonomy to tell those industry stiffs to stick their shitty songs up their ass (and if her new single "Since U Been Gone" is any indication, she's well on her way). So if you're looking to blame someone for Kelly's inability to move you musically, ask yourself this: What have YOU done for Kelly lately? WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY



DROWNING POOL, (HED)PE, MANNTIS, DFIVE9
(Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Dear Drowning Pool fans: This band loves you so much they kept on keepin' on even after their frontman, Dave "Stage" Williams, did the big sleep (of natural causes) in 2002. With new singer/screamer/shouter Jason "Gong" Jones, they released their latest nu metal sludgy/growly bombast fest, Desensitized, in the spring of this year. Dear everyone else: if Drowning Pool's big MTV hit, "Bodies," didn't do it for you--or if you, like many tasteful, bright, good-looking, disease-free Portlandeers, enjoy talking mad, joyful shit on nu metal--Desensitized won't change nothin'. (FYI: The CD sounds sorta like buddabudda baw wacha baw RRRRRO RRREEEOOO!) Dear fans of (Hed)Pe: I'm laughing at you. ADAM GNADE



EDITH FROST, SARAH DOUGHER, MANISHEVITZ
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See Music, Pg 21



QUEERCORE BLITZ FEATURING DOMINATRIX, TRIPLE CRéME, JACK QUEEN, THE DEAD BETTIES
(Meow Meow, 320 SE 2nd Ave) The one potential upside of the second Bush administration might be the amazing punk bands our ever more repressive society will surely spawn. After all, look at all the great music the Reagan administration begat. If the Queercore Blitz tour is any indication, the revolution has already begun. Born out of the ACT UP era in the early nineties, queercore found its footing with Pansy Division and beloved locals Team Dresch. Their heirs on the tour are Jack Queen, a four piece that describe themselves as a cross between the Haggard and Robots in Disguise; Triple Crème, who queer the pitch of Girls Against Boys; The Dead Betties, New York art core stars; and Brazilian feminist punks Dominatrix. CORTNEY HARDING



KBOO BENEFIT W/THE TASTEFUL NUDES, THE VELOCIPEDES, JR. PRIVATE DETECTIVE
(Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside) It's always easier to support a good cause when you're getting something yourself. Tonight, give it up for KBOO's youth collective, then give it up for locals Junior Private Detective who just keep getting better. Their female vocalist has an amazing voice, and their keyboard-laced art rock is complicated, danceable, and just really damn good. KATIE SHIMER



THE KILLS, THE HUNCHES, WET CONFETTI
(Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) Alison, now VV, used to be in a cool pop punk band called Discount. Once, when I saw them, she was teasing their guitarist for having been in (gasp) a SKA band. I hope The Kills guitarist, Hotel, teases Alison about having been in (gasp) a pop punk band. But all teasing aside, the band does do a nice job of not being nice. More exciting, at least for those who wish to forego the sleazed out gritty urban posturing, are The Hunches. Though much has been written already about these heroic fresh-faced ear-bleeders, it is undeniable that they play with the sort of purity of vision and heart that is more conducive to changing lives than selling Volkswagens. KIP BERMAN



WORLD CUP SKATEBOARDING 2004 VIDEO PREMIERE W/ROYCE DA 59, PEP LOVE, MYG, COOL NUTZ

(Bossanova, 722 E Burnside) In the wake of Fight Night, skateboarders are losing their grip on their status as the scofflaws of the sports world, which kind of sucks. Still, they have better tricks, and you can check them out on a big ass screen before settling in for a little hiphop. Check out Royce da 59, the bourgeoning MC whose short career has been haunted by Eminem in both good and bad ways. (If you're anti-Slim, you might be gratified by some D12 attacks.) Plus Pep Love of Hieroglyphics, MyG, and Mr. Nutz, whose name makes a good parlor game. How many synonyms can you come up with? We've always liked "Ventilated Testicles." MARJORIE SKINNER



SATURDAY 12/4

BLOODHAG, BLESSING THE HOGS, AMONGST US, INFLIKT, 2 MINUTE HATE
(Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) While I haven't kept up on Science Fiction literature since 8th grade, formative influences on my young brain were Philip K. Dick and Ray Bradbury long before I'd heard of Pynchon or punk rock. I'm writing this in my public library, the young adult branch, which is an appropriate place to discuss the literary hardcore of Bloodhag. Birthed in Seattle seven years ago, the group started out playing in suburban libraries and continue to do so, pelting fans with softbacks from Piers Anthony and Isaac Asimov. There's the ridiculous Necrotic Bibliophilia (Rock and Role Play) album with Prof. J.B. Stratton growling along bios of authors to the grindcore splay of the rest of the band, also with doctorates in sci-fi metal. Fans of Friends Forever or Jonny X and the Groadies ought to appreciate the edu-core shenanigans. GEORGE CHEN



THE DEARS, ROBBERS ON HIGH STREET, THE SUN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, Pg 19



JOHN FOGERTY, RICKIE LEE JONES, LOW MILLIONS, ADAM COHEN
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Though he continues to tarnish the good name of Creedence Clearwater Revival, at least John Fogerty's doing so tonight in the name of charity--playing as part of KINK 102's holiday food bank benefit. ZP



LE TON MITÉ, RAFN BROTHERS
(Stumptown SW, 128 SW 3rd) Just what is Le Ton Mité, you ask? The language it would require for such a definition is not a tongue with which I am familiar. On the business end, Le Ton Mité is a concept band that swirls around McCloud Zicmuse--but just what "it" will be this evening is a little more difficult to put one's thumb upon. Le Ton Mité is merely an extension of the scattered Zicmuse aesthetic--a multi-platform media assault posing as a brand name that's probably best explored in the form of its www.zicmuse.com webstation. As for tonight--it might be a seminar on the history of music, it might be wanky free jazz, it might be an elephant in a tutu--fuck if I know. Three things I can guarantee, however: there will most certainly be a good deal of talking, a good deal of the color orange, and a good deal of enjoyment all around. ZP



SUNDAY 12/5 KARATE, ROOTS OF ORCHIS

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) "Wax on. Wax off" said wise Mr. Miyagi, and with that began Daniel-San's education in the ass kickin' arts. Karate the band's deal is similar: Zen-like concentration on the kinda smarty pants jazz-goes-rock guitar solos usually dreamed up in Berklee classrooms plus nimble, crane-like steps from post-YES prog to emo and back again. Their new record is called Pockets, which is a really dumb name and a really adventurous marriage of technique and hyper-creativity. Roots of Orchis' steez is more like doping your opponent on roofies and junky cosmonaut trip-hop grooves, and then stomping their shit in the back alley. Both rule immensely. AG



MONO IN VCF, IDIOTPILOT, NORDIC
(Meow Meow, 320 SE 2nd Ave) VCF could mean anything from Velocity-Challenged Fatty to Viagra-Catalyzed Firmness, though Verve Cloned Fancifully would be the best match for Mono in VCF's stylishly somber sound. Frontman Hunter Lea's chilly croon makes lines such as "It doesn't matter if I die tonight" resonate; he delivers the phrase with stoic resignation, as if he cares about his fate but realizes there's nothing he can do to change it. With three synthesizers simmering at all times (Mono in VCF is a phrase swiped from a Moog display), the sextet uses an extensive instrumental palette to decorate its moody melodies. And with three guitars that punctuate every hook with jarring jangles and sonic sparks, this is a quiet-on-disc band with the potential to become Velocity-Crazed Fanatics. In short, Very Concert Friendly. ANDREW MILLER

MONDAY 12/6

KEANE, SNOW PATROL
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week! Pg 17



TUESDAY 12/7

JOHNNY DOWD, SALLY TIMMS
(White Eagle, 836 N Russell) There are artists with composition styles so complimentary that one can't help but wonder what might happen if they met. In the case of country-rock doom purveyor Johnny Dowd, I'd love to know what he and Tom Waits would do after attending the funeral of a mutual friend (let's say Captain Beefheart is the deceased, for further illustration). I think Waits would admire the bleakness and dark wit of Dowd's newest release, a morbid collection of grim character sketches and cautionary tales about cold-hearted women, violent, vagrant family members, and the reassuring fact that despite the inevitable evils of the world, the sun shines equally on all of us. HANNAH LEVIN



MAKE BELIEVE, CHIN UP CHIN UP, THE PAPERCHASE
(Meow Meow, 320 SE 2nd Ave) In Italy like three Januarys ago, Sam Zurich decided that he needed jean shorts now and cut his pants off at the knees with a steak knife at the club/restaurant before sound check. Him, Captain Tim Kinsella, Major Bobby Burg and others' post-Joan Of Arc/Owls band, Make Believe, exhibits similar harsh/creative/immediate behavior, only aurally and with more weirdo quirk-jump off tempo psychosis. Like anything Kinsella ever does, it's steeped in brilliant poetic fervor and races forward with brave experimentation. Even when it trips over itself a tad, it's whirling dervishly delicious. JOAN HILLER



MANIC D AND FOGATRON, SANTOTZIN, LEWEE REGAL, DJ VOID, SLEEPYHEAD
(Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) Tired of hearing your friends at the Mercury tout the massive skillz of Manic D and Fogatron? TOUGH! To not mention this rap n' human beatbox duo every time they perform would be akin to not… well, to not mentioning the unveiling of a new painting from Picasso, freshly risen from the grave. What if zombie Picasso unveiled a new painting every day? You'd still want to know about it wouldn't you? Manic D & Fogatron: the zombified Picassos of the Portland hiphop world. JWS



THE KILLERS, CROSSTIDE
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See Music, Pg 19



JONATHAN RICHMAN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, Pg 21



WEDNESDAY 12/8

FUCK, THE MINDERS, THE DOUBLE U
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Fuck is never going to get the credit they deserve. Not because media can't print their name, but because everyone assumes they're a hardcore band. So not enough people know about the perfect mix of rock and pop that Fuck makes. Not only that, they're one of the funniest bands in America. Their website features photographs of cats from cities they played in, as well as pictures of "The Amazing Ted", one of the members who does magic during their shows (I guess he has since changed his name to "Stallion"). That's not to say they're all ridiculous and silly, because the band writes some of the prettiest, somber pop songs of anyone around today. They said two years ago they were done touring the states, but lucky for us, they're back supporting their new record, Those Are Not My Bongos. WILL HELFRICH



JIMMY EAT WORLD
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Confession: In one of those familiar moments of hollowing despair, I faced head-on one of the most embarrassing moments of personal reflection a self-respecting radio listener could possibly confront--finding solace in a Jimmy Eat World song. "Hey/Don't write yourself off yet." Yeah… maybe you're right, Jimmy Eat World. "It's only in your head you feel left out/and looked down on." How could you possibly know that, Jimmy Eat World? "Do your best/Do everything you can/and don't you worry what those bitter hearts/are gonna say." That's it, Jimmy Eat World! That's the answer! Thank you, Jimmy Eat World! THANK YOU! In spite of their powerfully motivating message, Jimmy Eat World remain a dreadful rock band on all counts--but as long as they're doing their part to inspire awkward teens and depressed music critics across America, I can't harsh them too hard. ZP



WEST INDIAN GIRL, MERCIR
(Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) West Indian Girl (Robert James and Francis Ten) deserve props for naming their band after a strain of acid that inspires "tribal hallucinations." But they also earn demerits for not taking this inspiration to its mind-altering extreme. Their self-titled debut on Astralwerks strives for psychedelic grandeur, but it's too leashed to conventional song structure to achieve revelatory liftoff. West Indian Girl seem too much like a pseudo-hip, California major-label A&R dude's idea of "psychedelic" for true heads to get really excited about. DAVE SEGAL