AMBULANCE LTD., AUTOLUX, DR. DOG (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Philly swamp-blooze psychsters Dr. Dog has a guitarist named Andrew Jones who used to play in Raccoon and manages another group called The Teeth. Dr. Dog's keyboardist, Zach, used to play jazz guitar in Traffic Jam. I guess being in a perpetual string of poorly named outfits is kinda like growing up in late 1800s Russia--if you never know what warm gruel tastes like, you have no idea that your cold gruel is pretty gross. If you can get yr cool pants to say "I'M TOTALLY PAYING $7 TO SEE DR. DOG!!!" and mean it, you'll likely be able to dig their barber shop three-part harmonies, gruff Tom Waits slimeball pastiche and Roy Wood/Palace Bros molasses rock. The band's got an alleged 20 members, only a few of whom are part of the live setup, and they've toured with My Morning Jacket (fitting, 'cause another dude in Dr. Dog used to be in Beard, the band.) Guess what I'll be saying come showtime? "I'M TOTALLY NOT REALLY PAYING $7 TO SEE DR. DOG, BUT I AM GOING, BECAUSE I'M ON THE LIST!" JOAN HILLER

DIZZEE RASCAL, DJ WONDER (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See "Music," Pg 19

ROCK MAMA DOCUMENTARY BENEFIT FEATURING MS. SU'AD, FERN CAPELLA, LISA AND HER KIN, SARAH DOUGHER, SOPHE LUX (Hollywood Theatre, 4122 NE Sandy) A night of badass, literate, all-lady hiphop, spoken word, folk, and rock to raise money for Portland filmmaker Jackie Weissman's upcoming documentary ROCK 'N ROLL MAMAS, about the struggles involved with being a mom and maintaining a creative identity. JWS

SEXTON BLAKE, SUMMER AT SHATTER CREEK, CHE ARTHUR (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Summer at Shatter Creek are the sort of band whose press release uses the term "staggering genius" with a completely straight face. In fact, not only are Summer at Shatter Creek the sort of band whose press release features the aforementioned laughable phrase, they very much are that band. Whether that turns you off as much as it does me is your call--but as far as I'm concerned, a dude playing maudlin, piano-based indierock in two-thousand-ought-five, has no business stringing those two words together. That aside, ol' Craig Michael Gurwich (the one-man band behind this oppressively emo moniker) has vastly improved his game in his recent sophomore effort, the self-recorded All the Answers. Sure, the lyrics remain as bland and colorless as his two-year-old self-titled debut--but in terms of song structure and general production, Answers goes a long way toward proving SaSC's musical merits. Color me "staggered." ZP

TRIVIUM, 3 INCHES OF BLOOD, THE AGONY SCENE, STILL REMAINS (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) 3 inches of blood, it is said, is the minimum it takes to drown a human being. Mythology is so neat! The Agony Scene is a brilliant name for a band that's dumb as a bag of stones, but at least they know their demographic. If Trivium seem like this bill's unlikely headliners, they don't sound it on the recently released Ascendancy, an emo metal album that rarely sounds emo, but almost always reads that way. When 18-year-old Orlando-born Matt Heafy convincingly snarls "You ask me, 'Oh God why?'" and responds "Because I'm god, that's fucking why," he doesn't sound ridiculous or fake, though he's clearly both. While it's often typical--all nonsensical growling, mystical pretension and speed metal flexing--it never hedges embarrassing posture for genuine commitment. With, sort of inexplicably, Christian rockers Still Remains. TREVOR KELLEY


JESSE DAYTON, MOONSHINE HANGOVER, BLACKOUT RADIO (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Yes, Blackout Radio uses an upright bass. Though their notable instrumentation seems to induce disproportionate awe among first-time witnesses to the band's whiskey-soaked, spit-in-your-eye brutality in action, the lasting attraction is the unbullshitable legitimacy of singer Lance Seaton. He, like the rest of his band, is someone who you do not want to, under any circumstances, fuck with. You might be tempted by this prohibition to attempt the forbidden act of "fucking with this band." I repeat, don't do it. If you are not sufficiently bloodied and bruised by their furious punkrockabully, they will certainly finish the job with their bare hands after the show. You were warned… KIP BERMAN

AGITATION PARTY FEATURING SOLENOID, BRUNO PRONSATO, STRATEGY, BRIAN FOOTE, DJ RANDY JONES (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) It could be worse, you know. Even though we live in what has become the most aggressive and violent society in the world, we at least live in the hippest little liberal corner of it. Come unite with your fellow Cascadians (a proposed nationality based on both a perceived like-mindedness and the natural border of the Cascadian mountains, AKA everything from as far as Northern Cali all the way up to BC, depending who you ask) and express progressive thought the way it's always been done: by dancing your freedom-loving keyster off, in this case to the hyperactive, experimental electronic neighborliness of a handful of folks from both Portland and Seattle. MS

ASH, THE BRAVERY, ALASKA (Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) The Bravery is undoubtedly in a bit of a hurry to cash in on their current "it" band status. Their NYC pedigree and, always dubious, NME seal of approval have become as much of an obstacle as a selling point for these ridiculously stylish dance poppers. While the Big Apple's "scene" (itself more of a critical conceit than an actual community of musicians) has produced some legitimately talented artists, such as the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Walkmen, the flops-to-tops ratio is decidedly weighted in favor of the former. As one might rightly assume that Braverymania may not endure beyond this current tour, it would be advisable to give them your all while dancing to their radio hit, "An Honest Mistake." As critics are, at present, turning their gaze upon Montreal, these are, for better or worse, the final days of the NYC prefab sensation era. Sigh… I'll miss you Stellastarr*. KB


PDX NOISEFEST II FEATURING GUILTY CONNECTOR, BASTARD NOISE, EMIL BEAULIEAU, THE RITA, DEADLY ORIFICE, OSCILLATING INNARDS, POP CULTURE RAPE VICTIM, BDONG, BEHALF, NOTHINGISTRUE (Reed College, Student Union Building, 3203 SE Woodstock) So noisy they had to sequester it to the shady, remote campus of Reed, the PDX NoiseFest II continues its second year with more noise than you can shake a stick at. But if you did, they'd probably ask you to come shake your stick onstage and join the cacophony. Take advantage of the sprawling, two-day lineup and plunge yourself into one of the last frontiers of music that actually still makes a lot of people uncomfortable. (Day one: See above). Deep Breath. (Day Two: Lethal Firetrap, Hospital, Xome, Pedestrian Deposit, Hum of the Druid, Travis Morgan, Nkondi, Okha, Emil Beaulieau vs. Sickness). MS

STARS, APOSTLE OF HUSTLE (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See "Music," Pg 19

SUBARACHNOID SPACE, WOLVES IN THE THRONE ROOM, ROLLERBALL (Reed College Ping Pong Room, 3203 SE Woodstock) It's been great to see those Reed College kids spurn their perplexing love of jam bands and bad reggae and return to their old tradition of hosting free shows for artistic bands. Case in point: The San Francisco band Subarachnoid Space blends classic psych-rock riffage with a dark, stormy energy more akin to heavy modern bands like Neurosis and Isis. Rollerball has 10 albums of excellent, jazz-infused experimental rock in the can and is a must-see live act for any intelligent music fan that hasn't yet checked them out. JOSH BLANCHARD

THE VOLUMES, THE NIGHTMARES, THE JACUZZI BROS, THE BORN LOSERS (Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) Bands are often quick to announce that they "don't give a shit" or "just play the music they want to play and don't really care what people think." But these kinds of statements are themselves bullshit, propagating a myth that art, in order to be pure, must be detached from its audience. The best music doesn't ignore its audience, but engages it. Though it shouldn't pander too much to prevailing tastes or fashions, a good band knows that it exists for its audience, not vice versa. The Volumes are such a band. They make an effort to excite you and, with their searing guitar riffs and manic preacher-man vocals, they give enough of a shit to get the proverbial party started. Unfortunately, the headliners will kill any unselfconscious good times with their bullshit heavy "fuck the people" posturing. Fuck these people. KB


FIREBALLS OF FREEDOM, THE SOVIETTES, THE METHADONES (Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy Blvd) Fireballs of Freedom sound like three bands playing simultaneously in a loud and raucous house party. It's (band #1) messy "Louie Louie" grrrage rock, up against (band #2) hand-clappin' white-boy soul, back-to-back with (band #3) heavy, booming psyche rock burnouts in front of (the party attendees dishing out) more wild, drunken havoc than last week's episode of Cops: The Mean Streets of Gresham. The Soviettes are also worth checking out. Unlike their schticky-icky-icky name, they sound very un-Russian and, rather, kinda like the great Vice Squad. But before y'all give me a "Killer line-up!" high-five/hug combo, openers The Methadones (Dan from Screeching Weasel) are generic-ass Warped Tour punk without an ounce of soul or originality. ADAM GNADE

IDA, TARA JANE O'NEIL, MICHAEL HURLEY (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) For most guitar-based bands, live sets follow a formula that Camper Van Beethoven dubbed "greatest hits played faster." By contrast, already-glacial acts such as Ida tend to drag their compositions to a virtual standstill, letting spectators savor every note. Speedy groups get all the style points, but guiding snail-paced songs gracefully is as difficult as establishing a natural rhythm while strolling at a freakishly low treadmill setting. On their recent release Heart Like a River, Ida's three vocalists (two female, one male) merge so slowly that listeners can hear the varied pitches click into place as the harmonies form. Even during their occasional outbursts, when the guitars sputter, the piano keys plink, and the drums announce their percussive presence, the singers lag luxuriously, stretching every syllable. ANDREW MILLER


DAVE SEAMAN, DJ HUGGIE, DJ MB (Level, 13 NW 6th) A Brit with a proven track record for moving asses worldwide, Seaman spins big-room, middle-of-the-pack progressive house and breaks. In addition, he's fattened his wallet by remixing tracks by U2 and Michael Jackson, and producing songs for Kylie Minogue. Whoa. Seaman's touring behind the release of The Therapy Sessions Volume 2 (with Luke Chable on Renaissance). DAVE SEGAL


BLOWFLY, DJ FRANE (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) California's DJ Frane is one of the master producers of "beats to blaze to," the subtitle of both of his stone classic albums, Frane's Fantastic Boatride (1999) and Electric Garden of Delights (2003). Frane puts the THC into technics with a hydrosonic adventurer's ear for vivid detail, fastidiously engineering funkadelic vistas for altered-state head nodding of the highest order. His brand of hiphop embraces psychedelia, prog rock, laid-back funk, astral jazz, and even comedy-LP and porn-ick samples, all densely layered in order to dilate your pupils with utmost intensity. Inhale to this chief. DAVE SEGAL

HANDSOME BOY MODELING SCHOOL, RONDO BROTHERS, LIBRETTO (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Of all musical genres, hiphop is most amenable to humor. And nobody's been more consistently funny with the medium than Handsome Boy Modeling School (Dan "the Automator" Nakamura and Prince Paul). You can imagine these master conceptualists--who are also highly skilled downtempo and hiphop producers--storyboarding their albums months in advance like film directors, compiling a dream cast, conceiving scenes, dialogue, etc. Which may be why it took five years between 1999's outstanding So… How's Your Girl? and 2004's not-so-hot White People. Using the pseudonyms Nathaniel Merriweather and Chest Rockwell, Dan and Paul stage-manage disparate personalities and styles with a chutzpah that's not always successful, but which deserves props for the enterprise's sheer oddness. DAVE SEGAL


AZALIA SNAIL, MINMAE, NATE ASHLEY (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) Two kinda trippy singer/songwriters and a revered kinda trippy band. Nate Ashley's probably the most straight-up--a '70s-ish melancholy crooner whose latest album The Darker Corners of Your Heart features cameos by Rebecca Pearcy and Jacob Navarro. Azalia Snail has a name that belongs in Alice In Wonderland, and her ambient, psychedelic tunes are kind of like that film--weird but accessible. Then there's Portland's own Minmae who, on their website, answer the FAQ "Do you make intelligent dance music?" with, "No. Yes." My body has never danced to the fuzzy, swooping indierock of Minmae, but my heart has, and so will yours. JWS


THE DEARS, TELEPHONE, AMERICAN MINOR, THE UPSIDEDOWN (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) As much as I should probably dislike the Dears for their sincere--yet ultimately pale--orchestral reevaluation of Damon Albarn at his most mawkish, there's something that's kept me from selling off the third copy of No Cities Left that has graced my desk. Maybe it's that, despite Murray Lightburn's unforgivably clunky lyrics, the record is actually pretty breathtaking. I think it's more likely, however, that with the imminence of Springtime, I'm just a sucker for Britpop nostalgia. And for the next few months at least, I guess the Dears will have to fit the bill. ZP

GHOST TO FALCO, TWO PERCENT MAJESTY, SICKIE SICKIE, ME CON (Hotel, 503 W Burnside) The newly retrofitted Ghost To Falco looks and sounds a great deal different than the one you've been making googly-eyes at for the past couple of years. First off, there's a lot more of Ghost to Falco to go around these days--less in the "Eric should really lay off the carbs" kinda way, and more like "Ghost to Falco is now a three piece." Yeah, I know that sounds pretty weird--but trust me, everything's fine. In fact, dudes are so stoked that they've already written a new record's worth of material, and are about to go roll the West Coast with Two Percent Majesty [Editor's note: That would be the greatest sentence ever written were Two Percent Majesty not a band. Anyway…] Tonight is said tour's kickoff. ZP



DEATH IN JUNE, WALDTEUFEL, DORIEN (Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Acoustically minded goths Death In June come traipsing through town dragging their dark, intriguing baggage behind. Formed out of what was left of Crisis, their enigmatic music has been thought to be associated with everything from Nazi-ism to Jean Genet. Intriguing, no? MS