BUS-IT FEATURING BUSDRIVER, TEN SPIDERS, HUNGRY MOB, DJ WICKED (Bossanova, 722 E Burnside) I won't dance/why should I/I won't dance/how could I/I won't dance/with an uncoordinated muthafucka like you… That's right, revered Project Blowidian (not to mention unforgettable Blind Date contestant) Busdriver is bringing his hyperkinetic hyperbole to town. Armed with a speedknot delivery to rival Twista's, and the sarcasm of a thousand David Spades, he's equally adept at deflating the surreal comedy that is rap as he is exploring his own mishaps (such as on his paean to ex-girlfriends, Cosmic Cleavage). His latest, Fear Of A Black Tangent, is required listening--and not just for the hipsters. Get with the program. LARRY MIZELL JR.

DRESSY BESSY, VIVA VOCE, THE JESSICA FLETCHERS (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 17

L'ALTRA, MOCEAN WORKER, THE HIGH VIOLETS (Lola's room, 1332 W Burnside) By dint of being the spawn of renowned jazz producer Joel Dorn, Mocean Worker (Adam Dorn) has access to many of the genre's elite players and primo archives. The younger Dorn capitalizes on his good fortune with his latest album, Enter the MoWo! a pleasing balance between nuanced reverence and jaunty fun. L'Altra consist of ex-lovers Lindsay Anderson and Joseph Costa, but eschew soap-opera melodrama for understated poptronica located in the swoony nexus where Mum, Her Space Holiday, and countless morose divas mope. L'Altra will be supporting their third dose of MOR-ish melancholia, Different Days. DAVE SEGAL

LOVE AS LAUGHTER, DUTCH DUB (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See Music, pg 19


BACKYARD BABIES, THE CHELSEA SMILES, CRASH KELLY, TYPHOON KILLER (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Sweden's given us some of the best stuff ever. ABBA. Ikea. Swedish Fish! But none better than the burly, tawny-maned, drunkenly violent "Dumb Swede" stereotype epitomized best by the Muppet Show's Swedish Chef. But always industrious, the Swedes have birthed a brand-new (and equally fun!) stereotype: the Swedish garage rocker! There's something very courageous and loveable about Swede garage bands like Backyard Babies (which features a dude from Hellacopters.) They're kinda clueless and super America-worshipping but they're so earnest, so pious in their adoration of silly crap like Iggy Pop, hotrod culture, and CBGB-ready "punk sleaze." Sure, Backyard Babies' new rec, Tinnitus, may sound Velvet Revolver-y at times, but they're so incredibly Swedish, you can't help but get all "aw shucks, let the poor Swedes play" on 'em. ADAM GNADE

ROBERT ROTH, BLEACH, PRETTY MONSTER (Devils Point, 5305 SE Foster) One of the decidedly positive and needlessly overlooked aspects of the music made in Seattle during the '90's was just how darkly psychedelic much of it was. Embracing the swirling doom & wah evergreen-trees-at-night sound were bands like Love Battery, Truly and pre-Built to Spill Doug Martsch's Treepeople. Of these, the most committed to dense textures and the meandering song odyssey is Truly's ex-frontman and Mellotron maestro, Robert Roth. Part Tom Verlaine and part evil Brian Wilson, Roth's solo work is extended in musical prose with complete ideas and illustrations achieved though the rigorous and dense topography of his lush imagination and all-encompassing production. In a rare performance Roth shares the stage with Okinawa's Bleach, a group of hard-hitting young women who deliver punk with the punch of careworn old sea hags. This could indeed be worth getting very high for. LANCE CHESS

DITTY BOPS, BLANCHE, ALAN SINGLEY (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg 21

KENNY CHESNEY, GRETCHEN WILSON, PAT GREEN (Rose Garden, 1 Winning Way) See It's Who You Know, pg 27

KID LUCKY, FOGATRON, NICOLUMINOUS (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Given the rising number of freestyle competitions in the area, it's clear that Portland's interest in cultivating the pillars of hiphop is in effect. Take some inspiration from NYC artist Kid Lucky, who has been making waves since the mid-'90s with his creative and poetic improvised beatboxing, and has worked both as a one man show accompanied by video projection and as a collaborator with other artists, including Stevie Wonder. MARJORIE SKINNER

THE MEAN REDS, WIRES ON FIRE, ONSET OF AFFECT, CURSE OF THE CAROUSEL PONY (Solid State, 215 SE 9th) Sometimes it's best when a band is scrappy as hell live and clearly still angst-ridden about growing up somewhere moderately (strip-mall) shitty. The Mean Reds' enig-magnetic frontman, Anthony Anzalone, drenches his often snotty, dismissive words in a creaky, sensual howl that's as postured as it is heartfelt. With time, the Mean Reds' live show has gotten markedly more explosive and retarded. The band may well be testing out new stuff from their upcoming August release, but I just want to hear "Get Ur Face Out of My Grill!", largely because of the title. Did I mention they all have moppy hair, look like they're 12, and usually play in underpants, sweatbands, and fuchsia spandex? Or that one rumor says they got kicked off Warped Tour for pissing off the stage? JOAN HILLER


CASTANETS, WOODEN WAND AND THE VANISHING VOICE, SKYGREEN LEOPARDS, WHITE MICE, HYACINTH, COUGHS (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd Ave) Wooden Wand and the Vanishing Voice have been tinkering around for a number of years releasing short runs of vinyl, cassettes, and probably a wax cylinder or two on dozens of tiny labels no one's ever heard of. But very recently, someone (the forest gods?) overturned the stone, revealing these delicate psych-folk explorers to 5RC, Troubleman Unlimited, and the blossoming cult of Devendra fans. Even so, there is remarkably little information online about WW&tVV, aside from a ridiculously long discography and their pseudonyms: Hassara, H Reality, Nonhorse, Jarvis, and Alpha Woman. How these beings will interact/collide with likely showstealers the Coughs is another question entirely. Coughs are a young band of extreme noise enthusiasts with a new release on the Load label. These six kids are the only new band in Chicago worth a damn right now, and answer the oft asked question: "what if Smegma were 18 again"? NATHAN CARSON See also Music, pg 19

CLOUD CULT, LESS THAN HERO, TRICK SENSEI (Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy Blvd) Imagine one of the Saddle Creek label collective (say, Now It's Overhead) more interested in jumbling genres than strictly sticking with indie rock and you get the starting point for Cloud Cult. The Minneapolis act adorns a mix of wistful and sing-from-the-rafters pop with a colorful palette of electronics that spins, whirs, and reflects like bright pinwheels across the landscape of Advice from the Happy Hippopotamus. Frontman Craig Minowa gives loss a bit of levity, too, using the album to motivate himself beyond the death of his young son and embrace living to the fullest ("You best learn to live while you're alive."). Great stuff. JENNIFER MAERZ

LE FLANGE DU MAL, EZEE TIGER, SPACEHAWK (Acme, SE 8th and Main) See Music, pg 19

THE MAKERS, THE APES, ZZZ, THE RABBITS (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 17


SHARE THE ROAD BENEFIT FEATURING TRAMA LE TRON, SIX FOOT SLOTH, GINGANG, LARRY YES (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Tonight's event at Berbati's represents many things to many people. Its a celebration of the lives of sadly departed friends Orion Satushek and Angela Leazenby, the long awaited record release of Orion's Spooky Dance Band, a memorial bike ride and a drunken, kick ass rock show. The talent pool at this shindig is practically overflowing with good folks like oddball expatriate Larry Yes, and Murky shadowy trance-rockers, Trauma le Tron. Congregate at 5:30 on Friday at NW 9th and Couch for a mass bike expedition or just show up Saturday for the show, which is, by the way, a benefit for bike safety organization Share The Road. JOSH BLANCHARD

JESSE SYKES & THE SWEET HEREAFTER, NORFOLK & WESTERN, INARA GEORGE (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) When I was 17, I went to the cool indie record store and bought Sarah McLachlan's Surfacing, telling the clerk that it was for my mom. It wasn't. Listening to Inara George's All Rise, I am struck with a similar feeling of inappropriate joy. This is (gasp) grown-up music, albeit much better than McLachlan's. George's songwriting, at once accomplished, quirky and intimate, never dwells too long in excessive self-seriousness. Though most of the tracks on her strong debut are content to luxuriate in finger picked guitars, harpsichord and smoky vocals, "Genius" and "Turn On/Off" recall the smart power pop of Brendan Benson and The New Pornographers. KIP BERMAN


BANE, EVERGREEN TERRACE, CURSED, VERSE (Solid state, 215 SE 9th) In 1982, the compilation This Is Boston, Not L.A. became the defining document for old-school Beantown hardcore. Stylistically similar to the D.C. variety, with hyperactive drumbeats and high-volume, patiently enunciated vocals, the Boston brand was more combative, with singers taunting jocks and drunks in pinched accents. Musically, Bane stays true to their hometown's template, dealing in throwback two-minute blasts. Lyrically, though, they turn inspirational slogans and unity-recruitment entreaties into a positivity platform. In a scene now dominated with prematurely jaded brats and precocious prog-metal virtuosos, it's refreshing to see a 10-year-old group still expressing pep-rally enthusiasm for its genre while playing by loud-hard-fast rules. ANDREW MILLER

COSMIC SKRONK #2 FEATURING EVOLUTIONARY JASS BAND, STEVEN WRAY LOBDELL, SETI (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Suspiciously similar in composition to Berbati's Pan's other free, monthly, psyche and improv-based series, Cosmic Skronk takes place on the last Sunday of most months, and is curated by Scuffle and Dustcough's Dewey Mahood. Tonight's edition features the free jazz assault of the Evolutionary Jass Band, along with local experimental guitar wrangler and occasional Faust member Steven Wray Lobdell. ZP

JAGUARES (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Imagine for one hot minute that U2 is from Mexico insteada the Vatican I mean, Ireland. (Sorry.) Imagine there's no Edge, just four, long-haired, tight-pant'd, attention-hoggin' Bonos. And imagine songs about social injustice or, like, whatever--'cept in Spanish. Imagine them with no discernable choruses, just long and winding verses. And imagine that this band had spent their awkward late '90s period flirting (but never having the balls to go all the way) with traditional Mexican canciones populares, instead of "techno" a la U2's Pop. Now, imagine all the people de Mexico (and beyond!) dying for this shit. Eatin' it up with clawed, greedy paws. This, then, would be our friends Los Jaguares. Chances are a lot of y'all read that last paragraph and went, "hey, sounds good!" Takes all kinds, right? AG


(Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 17


FOUNTAINS OF WAYNE (Music Millennium, 801 NW 23rd) One of the least exceptional blips on the late-'90s alternative rock landscape, Fountains of Wayne's greatest claim to fame pre-2004 was the fact that one of the guys in the band wrote the theme song of the Tom Hanks' forgettable directorial debut, That Thing You Do. And I wish to God it would've stayed that way. Unfortunately, FoW hit the one hit wonder big time last year with one of the most annoying radio singles in recent memory, the utterly asinine "Stacy's Mom," in which the band's songwriting duo of Adam Schlesinger and Chris Collingwood wax nostalgic about being in love with the mother of one of their high school friends. Harmless I suppose, were it not for the fact that both men are currently pushing 40--a fact that would make Stacy's mom roughly 60 years old. Get into THAT. ZP


BRANDON BUTLER, GARLAND OF HOURS, STUART VALENTINE (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See Once More With Feeling, pg 29


ALDEBARAN, RUE, DEAD BY DAWN, KILUAEA (Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Everybody loves High on Fire. But pay attention, and you'll find there are some local challengers to the doom-throne. Aldebaran are named after one of Lovecraft's favorite star systems, and combine cosmic lyrics, barbarian imagery, and extremely memorable riff-based songs into something of ever-increasing quality. Not only do they hypnotically stomp and crush, but their singer sounds legitimately evil. Like most great doom bands though, they're three of the nicest guys you could meet. Ohio's Rue play mid-tempo sludge that recalls the southern metal of C.O.C. and the oppressive punk/doom of Orange Goblin. I'd say they're a bit vocally challenged, but odds are the guitars will be so loud, it won't be an issue. Kiluaea are up 'n' comers with a rear view focus on recreating the classic sound of Pentagram and the neo-classic sound of Witchcraft. NATHAN CARSON

NUDGE, ROLLERBALL, THE PLANTS, DJ BRIAN FOOTE (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Please accept my apologies, Nudge, that the release of your very excellent new album (and Kranky debut), Cached, was not met with the fanfare it so rightly deserved this week. You clearly deserved better, and I totally blew it. In spite (or more likely, because) of my inexcusable fuck up, please make sure that you attend the band's record release party tonight, which also features the similarly powerful experiments of Rollerball, the woodland folk of the Plants, and a DJ set by Nudgester Brian Foote. ZP

MARIA TAYLOR, STATISTICS, PER SE (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) A bill that sees two of Conor Oberst's closest trying to escape his shadow in their own separate ways. First is Maria Taylor of Azure Ray--the on-and-off girlfriend--whose just released solo debut, 11:11, doesn't stray incredibly far from her band's moody minimalist pop, but has a sweet ambitious streak to it that's kind of endearing. Often Lie, the second Jade Tree full length from Statistics' Denver Dalley--the on-and-off co-songwriter of Oberst's erstwhile "rock" band Desaparecidos--is alone and intimate too, but for a band lead by a single person, it sounds a lot like a mediocre indie rock trio desperately in need of a frontman. What ties them together, then, is that they never sound quite as convincing as they should without those they could be theoretically bouncing their weaker ideas off of. Nice symmetry, though. TREVOR KELLEY