THE GRAVES, CUSPIDOR, BLANKET MUSIC (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See CD Reviews, pg 13

THE PRIDS, GREEN CIRCLES, PROTEST HILL, ANDREW JACKSON JIHAD (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Hey Prids, long time no see. Once a constantly playing Portland favorite, the Prids are still a legendary local band. Cool-as-hell breathy boy-girl vocals, echoy guitars and meticulous drumming create music that's both dark and light--a creative new wave/post punk influenced amalgamation. Get out there and see a band that's actually worth some hype. KATIE SHIMER


COPY, OLY, DECEPTIKON, DIZZYSTARHOUSE, DJS P. DISCO, M50 (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Tonight's evening of poppy, uniformly agreeable electronic compositions kicks of famously with the Free Cell-literate likes of Dizzystarhouse and former Portland Laptop battle king Deceptikon. Next on the agenda is the tweetronica of Chicago's singularly named Oly, whose breezy, aimless synth-pop is by far tonight's most rudimentary--though not without its charms. Headlining tonight is recent Audio Dregs signee Copy (stage name for one Marius Libman), whose "bubbly electro-pop" has yet to actually touch my ears--but as usual, if it's good enough for Audio Dregs, it's good enough for me. ZAC PENNINGTON


THE KINGDOM, PT. JUNCTURE, WA, INVISIBLE (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg 13

OLD HAUNTS, CHAMPAGNE, LILY MARLENE (Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Place) There's nothing melancholy about the Old Haunts' debut full-length, Fallow Field (Kill Rock Stars). The basement-party distortion and histrionic, rusty-nail vocals give the band a very raw rock edge. And yet there's none of the spill-the-beer bombast of most Olympian garage punks in their sound--in its place is a spookier sensibility (fitting for their name) and a slight drone pulled from drinking at the same well of inspiration as bands like the Wipers and Dead Moon. JENNIFER MAERZ

VISQUEEN, TYPHOON KILLERS, JACUZZI BROS, MONSTROUS (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Visqueen belts out the pretty, contemplative power girl vocals, catchy melodies, and some compelling heavy guitar. After a few listens to any of their songs, you should be able to sing along, mainly because the vocals are sharp as a bell and take charge in every tune. I totally imagine Visqueen showing up on a teen girl movie soundtrack very soon. Maybe the obligatory sequel to The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants? KS

SAFEWAY WATERFRONT PARK BLUES FESTIVAL FEATURING BUDDY GUY, CHARLIE MUSSELWHITE, ERIC JOHNSON, AND MORE (Waterfront Park) I've made it a policy to be distrustful of anything having to do with Safeway (particularly flowers and potatoes), and the Safeway Waterfront Blues Fest isn't doing a lot to change that. I'm sorry music traditionalists--I know there's some complicated and important relationship between the development of the modern rock music I love and the blues--but I can't be bothered to learn about it because the blues, no matter how much your grandpa tries to say different, are boring with a capital "B". This weekend (July 1-4) you have the opportunity to hear nothing but the Blues from more artists than I have blood cells (including Mavis Staples, Buddy Guy, and Charlie Musslewhite), and all amidst the gentle flow of Gresham and Beaverton's hot dog-gorging, toddler-screaming, pasty-assed very best. If it's not a short step away from Hell, I'll eat my Bo Diddley poster that I had hanging in my room when I was 10 and liked Bo Jackson's Nike commercials. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS


ABYSSINIANS, YELLOW WALL DUB SQUAD, DJ BLACKMARKS (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) If you can hold your tongue at all the honky dreadlocks that are sure to show up for this, you'll get to see some old school reggae tonight, with a band that's been producing records since the mid-'70s. And they are actual practitioners of and proponents of the Rastafarian tradition. That's your cue to get as high as possible and go catch some riddim. MARJORIE SKINNER

BOOM BAP PROJECT, GREY SKUL, COOLNUTZ (Conan's, SE 39th & Hawthorne) One DJ always holdin' it down/Two MC's killin' takin' the crown/Three is the number when we all put it down/Four is the total when we bring in the crowd… Such is the math of the mighty Boom Bap Project--Karim AKA NightClubber Lang, Destro Destruct, and DJ Scene. The bedrock science of rap, live on stage; the fellas do indeed put it down with one of the most energetic stage shows around. Their spank-new Rhymesayers LP Reprogram is terminally infected with the base viral strain of that shit they call hiphop… In other words, it's killing shit. Like Brother Ali said, when they do a show--bring ya stinkin' asses out. LARRY MIZELL JR.

THE LAMPS, THE BLANK-ITS, SWIMMERS, DJ DTOUR (Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) Representatives from L.A.'s beloved In The Red Records (home of beloved garage stalwarts like the Deadly Snakes, the Hospitals, and Portland's own Hunches), the Lamps chart similarly bratty, white rock territory--the sort that will for good reason always captivate the minds and bar tabs of the Pabst-drinking populous. Also performing tonight are Portland's own Swimmers, who's We Swam As For Behaviour Our Behavior is a fiery jolt of stream-of-conscious electricity--the kind we can always use more of. ZP

THE SNUGGLE-UPS, SCIENCE OF YABRA, EVOLUTIONARY JASS BAND, GHOST TO FALCO, NARWHAL (Headquarters, 4507 N. Gantenbein) It's bills like these that serve as a near weekly reminder of just how fucking spoiled we are here in the gray, dismal abyss of the Rose City--where the hell else are you going to find a ridiculously diverse bill like this at a house show for three dollars? And just because it happens, like, three times a week here, doesn't mean that it ain't special. I mean, look at this bill: you've got the beautifully homoerotic dance pop of the Snuggle-Ups butting up against the caustic squelch of Science of Yabra; the seizing rhythmic rigidity of Narwhal alongside the recently expanded indierock of Ghost To Falco next to the straight-up WHAT?!? of Evolutionary Jass Band. What is WRONG with us?!?! ZP


MAXIMO PARK, THE BLOOD ARM, TROUBLED HUBBLE (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, pg 15

PINK SWORDS, MUDDY RIVER NIGHTMARE BAND (Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) The name Pink Swords might suggest some interesting musical connotations. Boys who claim allegiance to the color pink usually have, at the very least, unusual and flashy stage wear, and swords could mean some wizardly psychedelic shit. Not the case here, where the pink swords turn out to be a straightforward punk band, exciting mostly for their ability to seamlessly flow influences from New York Dolls to the Descendents into a manic hodgepodge all their own, if that's considered to be a feat anymore. Their dicks. I think the name just refers to their dicks. MS

WATERY GRAVES, WHITE RAINBOW, MISE EN ABYME, KICKBALL, AARON KYLE (Acme, SE 8th and Main) Acting as something of an release party for the Old Growth journal of Pacific Northwest art, music, and culture, the fine folks at Marriage Records (Watery Graves, Mise En Abyme, White Rainbow) and a few of their friends (Olympia's Kickball and L.A.'s Aaron Kyle) open their arms to Summer in an evening subtitled "Stay Wild!" ZP

WET CONFETTI, THE AFTER LIFES, FACT OR FICTION (Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 11


ESTHERO, AUDITORY SCULPTURE, DJ ARNOLD PANDER (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) Esthero's 1998 debut, Breath from Another, was one of the most musically respectable and unique offerings of a glut of contemporaneous Everything But the Girl-ish breakbeat-pop/breathy girl singer bands. It carried a creative density and seeming genuine inspiration throughout. Their recently released EP, We R in Need of a Musical Revolution (an extended single from their upcoming sophomore album), however, is terrible. Sapped of their seemingly real-band essence, Esthero now feels like a crass and hollow major label construction, and one painfully dated at that. The EP's title cut bemoans music industry cardboard stand-ups like Ashanti while sounding like a poor attempt at achieving their sleek beyond sleek, totally undeniable pop gold, and the whole record feels like a weak, vaguely hypocritical mush. SAM MICKENS

GET HUSTLE, AFRIRAMPO, SCOUT NIBLETT, CJ BOYD (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Afrirampo shatter the stereotype of Japanese female musicians who demurely squeeze out Hello Kitty-ified versions of power pop and garage rock. Instead, Oni (vocals, guitar) and Pika (vocals, drums) stick a fork in the Shonen Knife prototype and crank out batty bursts of Dada rock. It makes sense that psychedelic extremists Acid Mothers Temple's label released Afrirampo's A album: Both groups share a fondness for madcap disorientation and absurdist chaos. Aaahhh, shriek out! DAVE SEGAL See Also Music, pg 13

MEN WHO CAN'T LOVE, YUMA NORA, HUSTLER WHITE, SEX WITH GIRLS (Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Not that it's too often they get boring, but if you're drained on the local set of DIY experimentalists, check out a Californian perspective via Men Who Can't Love. You'll probably dig them if you've seen Hustler White more than once. The whole West Coast seems to contain a sciatic nerve circuit for this niche, so they'll probably get married and have babies with local folks like Yuma Nora and Sex With Girls eventually. MS

PARALLAX, ROLLERBALL (Conan's, SE 39th & Hawthorne) In my perfect utopia of pure kismet and artistic comeuppance, bands like Rollerball would sell out the Crystal Ballroom and grace the cover of national magazines, while the Shins and the Decemberists slaved away at minimum wage jobs to be able to buy new effects pedals. Alas, this is not the case, which is all the more reason you should go out and support the often brilliant and always challenging Rollerball. A Parallax is usually defined as an apparent visual change in an object depending on the angle its viewed from, or as a B-grade D.C comics villain. In tonight's case though, Parallax is a friendly yet bludgeoning rock and roll twosome fueled by Red Bull and old Kyuss records. JOSH BLANCHARD


JONNY X AND THE GROADIES, FACT OR FICTION (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd Ave) See Music, pg 11

JUDAS PRIEST (Clark County Amphitheater) See Music, pg 15


MICHELLE SHOCKED (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) Few semi-popular artists are as eclectic as Michelle Shocked, who set a standard for stylistic pin-balling with 1988's folk rock/punk rock/protest rock record Short Sharp Shocked and has steadfastly maintained it ever since, with albums dabbling in 1940s swing (Captain Swing), completely un-ironic gospel music (Deep Natural), and on the recently released TRIPLE disc set Threesome… Disney songs. That's right, in one fell, three-part swoop you can get your "Western swing twist on Disney songs" fix (Got No Strings), your "rock album, full of guitar and guts" fix (Don't Ask, Don't Tell, the best of the set), and your "border Americana" fix (Mexican Standoff), replete with Texas blues and stories about Spanglish. This year, stretch out the Fourth of July for one more day, 'cuz tonight's gonna be an explosion. JWS

THE WAIFS, BEN WEAVER (Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) The Waifs provide gentle, twangy folk from three sweet-voiced Aussies--two cute sisters and some dude. Extremely radio-friendly and inoffensive, it's hard to imagine a dynamic performance of this stuff, but the Waifs are touring on the heels of a new double-disc, best-of live album, A Brief History, nonetheless. More intrigue is to be found in Ben Weaver, the Eugene-bred, Greg Brown-approved, whiskey-soaked opener, who sports a Bobby Bare, Jr.-style rasp that cuts the air like a dagger. JWS


GET HUSTLE, LION FEVER, BELLMER DOLLS (Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Around the country, Bellmer Dolls will get compared to the Birthday Party at every stop. But with their studied sound and preened "Ichabod Crane" look, it could hardly be taken as anything but a compliment. Besides, even Nick Cave has long abandoned making the sexy bombastic art punk that made him infamous. Bellmer Dolls come from Brooklyn with a fairly serious pedigree--Anthony S. Malat was in the exceptional and sadly missed guitorgan-goth unit Lovelife (after stints in Univeral Order of Armageddon and The Great Unraveling), and his compatriot Peter Mavro has been an Angel of Light. There may not be a belfry of new ideas here, but gothic punk has become a traditional form and the Portland black-clad are starved for a presentation of this quality. NATHAN CARSON