THURSDAY 11/24

THANKSGIVING BOOTY

(Porky's, 835 N Lombard) Ooh, that sucks. We over-stuffed our fat face again this year and now we're hurting. Ugh. We feel so gross. Well, I guess there's only one thing to be done, really: We're going to have to shake off this Thanksgiving gut on the dancefloor at Porky's. I mean, it's not like the indoor tennis courts or the gym are open, right? Yeah, I guess we're just going to have to go get our groove on—gotta keep the ol' fat off. Ah shit, and I guess we'll have to drink Porky's cheap drinks, too; I mean, how else are we going to thin the blood enough to keep our arteries from clogging? Yeah, there's just nothing else to be done. That's too bad. Sucks to be us. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS

FRIDAY 11/25

3 INCHES OF BLOOD, A JAVELIN REIGN, ZEKE

(Sabala's Mt. Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Relatively newly reformed after breaking up in '02, Zeke's steely throated, hard-rock biker metal sounds like a slightly more glam version (not that they bust out scarves or even deviate much from the head-to-toe denim uniform) of Motörhead, so it's not surprising that they're former tourmates. They're the type of band whose music videos feature girls with snakes and whiskey bottles, so in other words: classic. MARJORIE SKINNER

MORRIS DAY & THE TIME, ANGELA WINBUSH

(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Morris Day is an incredible showman, an arch clown who has taken the basic tenets of his onstage character and run them into cartoonish hysteria. He has shown the thoroughness and diligence of a great Kabuki actor in the execution of his foppish gigolo persona. More importantly, the first three records Morris recorded with his loyal Time were some of the most stunningly and casually experimental pop R&B albums of the '80s and yielded a deep pocket of ridiculous/infectious hits ("Cool," "Jungle Love," etc.). Though the Time has sometimes been referred to as Prince's first "pet project," it cannot be denied that Morris and the Time were explosively magnetic and talented in their own right. While some of the Prince affiliates (read: the alternating, camisoled frontwomen of the Vanity/Apollonia 6) were mere sex-shooting talking heads, one imagines that Morris and Prince, friends and bandmates since their teens, came to the table much more as peers, and developed the sparkling grotesquerie of the Time together. SAM MICKENS

DONOVAN

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Those recently bit by the psych-folk bug, take heed! If you're looking for a father of this re-blossoming genre, Donovan is about as close as you're going to get. Initially following his muse as a Scottish born Dylan Jr., Donovan Leitch is best known for his euphoric blend of British-folk traditions, mysticism and Summer of Love trajectories. While his peers in the Incredible String Band may have been a bit more au naturale in their cosmic woodland leanings, Donovan had the charm and the hits under his belt. His Hurdy Gurdy™ tour commemorates the Sunshine Superman's 40th year anniversary of music making, and though the past few decades have brought very few records, it's okay to sit on your laurels when you have such a rich cushion of a back catalog to lounge on. On a side note, to you rockophiles who think Donovan is a patchouli-reeking pantywaist, the backup band on many of his flower-power gems is none other than a Robert Plant-less Proto Led Zeppelin. Put that in your hookah and smoke it! JOSH BLANCHARD

THE LOVEMAKERS, SHE WANTS REVENGE, ROCK KILLS KID

(Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) The kinda shit the Lovemakers committed to tape was bad enough the first time around—fey '80s electro-pop that should be corralled to bad gay bars that don't know better. But the second time around, it's that much worse. Those falsettos, those vanilla synth melodies, and those lyrics ("You can have anything you want if you shake that ass for me")—none of it's a very good idea. JENNIFER MAERZ

THE MAE SHI, THE POPE

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Hearing the Mae Shi is like holding a hardcore karaoke indie party in your back passage, only a little more pleasurable. The California band's new CD Heartbeeps (5RC) is a 16-minute riot of mischief, catarrh, angular rhythms, and off-kilter words repeated over and over again, in the vain hope they might be considered "lyrics." Hey, it worked for Public Image Limited! It has more imagination than 3,001 self-seeking wannabe social "outcasts" digging Bill Callahan's winter warmers. It deals in numbers and shapes and figures and electronic bleeps and sudden bursts of sound. It's a prime example of how Attention Deficit Disorder shouldn't be treated as a malady but as a creative asset. On their first US tour in 2003, the Mae Shi asked everyone to bring along a mix-tape or CD to exchange for a copy of their first EP. The LA band received around 40 tapes and CDs. In 2004, they made a 70-minute long Mae Shi Ultimate Mix CD out of the very best moments from these CDs, 1,200 songs in all. Nice. But what's wrong with just listening to one band, one song, all the way down the line? Play the same song over and over again. Be the Killers. Be Coldplay. Be the Mae Shi, ending Terrorbird (2004) with five identical songs, all called "Repetition." Don't confuse people. You'll never be popular. EVERETT TRUE

SEXY PANTS, CAVES, CAREEN, THE DRAFT

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) What do you get when you combine four young, singing men in skimpy jogging attire with one big afroed man in a high-school-wrestling-team outfit spinning records behind them? Sexy Pants. And God damn, Sexy Pants will make you dance! This group delivers infectious music and hilarious lyrics all backed up with the power of hip thrusts and other way-wicked dance moves. Imagine the stage lined with four Richard Simmons-style boys that are 10,000 times cooler and dig chicks. Yeah, that's what I'm talking' about. This band doesn't sweat to the moldy oldies; they sweat to their own genius goodies! CHRISTINE S. BLYSTONE

YELLOWCARD, ACCEPTANCE, REEVE OLIVER

(Loveland, 320 SE 2nd) Do you think Yellowcard totally resents their violin player? I suppose it's a good thing to have a clear, specific sonic characteristic that separates you from the teeming masses of mall punk, but when it's also the only passably notable thing your band has going for it, it's gotta be hard to keep facing "you know, that shitty band with the violin," as your only critical assessment. I bet they hide his rosin when he's not looking. ZAC PENNINGTON

SATURDAY 11/26

LANGUAGE OF DESTRUKTION FEATURING JONAS NASH & THE BLENDER OF DEATH, KISS THE GOAT W/HAIL, THE RED KING, SYNCHRONICITY FREQUENCY, NEQUAQUAM VACUUM, CLICHÉ AU LAIT, SATI FYRE, ALEX LILY'S TV SMASHER

(Sabala's Mt. Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) The Enteractive Language Festival's "Language of Destruktion" event features chaotic performances from the likes of Micah Perry and his (often messy) project Cliché Au Lait, a performance artist who delights in destroying the barrier between performer and audience (as the first person to receive a master of fine art in performance art at PSU, as he will this spring, the man's also something of a human historical landmark); "surrealist" (Satanic?) butoh from Kiss the Goat; and the experimental, clanging improv of Nequaquam Vacuum; Synchronicity Frequency's industrial electronic improv; and DJ'd music from metal to songs of the IRA. Should be inky dark. MS

MS. SU'AD, ADRIAN ADEL, CATTERBOXX, DJ JOY

(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) In the cozy li'l space across the alley from Berbati's, some fun evenings of artwork and underground hiphop are beginning to sprout. Come enjoy tonight's $1 beers and the tough, uncompromising flow of Portland's own Ms. Su'ad. JWS

OZOMATLI, STATE RADIO

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Did Ozomatli not split up? Didn't they take their Afro-Latin hiphop audio banquets and underground, culture-swapped, glitterball-guns-aloft beats and go home? Didn't they snatch the red-hot, jazz-fried explosions of brass out of those crowd-raising salsa choruses and bits that sounded like a DJ Shadow record with grins? Didn't they suggest something more serious than a successful 10-year career and a new but welcome air of optimistic political tension? I think I was lied to. GUY FAWKES

SUPER FURRY ANIMALS, CARIBOU

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg 19; My, What a Busy Week! pg 17.

RAILER, THE GENTRY, SAD PANDA, UMBER SLEEPING

(Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) Our state capital and little brother city, Salem gets more than its fair share of shit-talking. Granted, much of the town feels like it's been plopped down on Indian burial grounds, and locating a decent bar is like finding the holy grail in a thrift store's bric-a-brac section. Yet there are always pockets of goodness to be found. One such pocket is local band Sad Panda. These young scene svengalis are the DIY house band of the Cherry City and a pretty kicking electro-rock combo to boot, You're not going to drive down south to see these guys play so go check 'em out in your own backyard. JB

SUNDAY 11/27

GREEN MILK FROM THE PLANET ORANGE, BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH

(Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) For the third time this year, Portland is blessed by the progressive rock gods with another Green Milk show. By now, Portlanders are getting used to having their asses handed to them by stellar Japanese bands, and Green Milk is no exception. Their rock show is so energetic it boggles the mind. The guitarist begins the set seated on stage, creating swells of jazz-influenced noise, but don't be fooled. Once the beat kicks in, an array of effects pedals get stomped, the chair becomes a stool, and clouds seem to part. Then the battery begins, and grins start spreading through the crowd like wildfire. It's an infectious and revelatory concert experience that corrodes right through the hides of the most jaded among us. Local post-everything hardcore deconstructionists the Better to See You With support. NATHAN CARSON

JAPANTHER, SHOW ME THE PINK

(Richland, 1232 SW Salmon) Take a fuzzy bass guitar, some static drumbeats, a whole bunch of really good hooks, a couple shout-out-loud, sing-along choruses, and a good dose of hiphop, and you get Japanther. It doesn't matter that some of the lowest-quality recordings in your collection bear the same name—this is the kind of stuff that sounds best blaring from busted-ass speakers at top volume. Japanther are as likely to play in your bathroom as to open for Mogwai or Ol' Dirty Bastard, and if you don't feel compelled to participate, there's something wrong with you. GRANT BRISSEY See also My, What a Busy Week! pg 17.

THE JOGGERS, GOGOGO AIRHEART

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

PORTLAND VAMPIRES, MOODRING

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl.) As much as it's nice to see young musical blood bubbling to the surface, it's nicer still to see the old guard trying out some new digs. Local bloodsuckers Vampires are relative newborns, but feature members of the Hochenkeicht/Irving Klaw trio lineage. (Great tape label world-kraut jams à la Sun City Girls, for you Portland newcomers). The Vampires don't go straight for the jugular, but instead present haunting, organic post-folk with a penchant for the long, pregnant pause. Newer still is Moodring, the spanking new duolicious project from Mae Starr and "Mini Wagon Wheel" of Rollerball infamy. Word is still out on the stylistic bent of this promising new collaboration, but if forced to make a guess, I'd forecast dark clouds on their horizon. JB

MONDAY 11/28

WE'RE FROM JAPAN!, TERA MELOS, FEROCIOUS EAGLE

(Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) To suggest that We're From Japan! are an easy to overlook facet of the Portland music community isn't necessarily a slight—their brand of instrumental post-Mogwai post-rock was never too big on being flashy. But while we're already here, let me briefly jog your WFJ! memory: The band seems endlessly capable of sculpting the icy melodrama central to so much of the familiar post-rock aesthetic—a surprisingly uncommon feat these days. ZP

TUESDAY 11/29

THE LOWLIGHTS, OF SPIRAL ARMS

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl.) See Music, pg 19.

SI*SÉ, DJ OTHERTEMPO, DJ BONEHEAD

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) I'm of the suspicion that in the future, most current triphop will be remembered as we currently view '60s and '70s elevator music: Sure, it's pleasant enough as somewhat interesting background noise, but never, shall we say, "interesting enough to listen to on its own." Enter Si*Sé, who comfortably bolster that notion: I picture this being played at like East or something, softly pumping in the background while I order some fancy-pants martini or whatever and feel self-conscious. It's low-key like that, and it's definitely competent and enjoyable, and especially with its distinct Latin flavor, Si*Sé's music will seem perfectly fine if you're listening to it as background music over cocktails. But then you'll finish your drink, and then you'll leave, and then you'll forget all about it, and then a few days later when someone says "Hey, wanna check out that Si*Sé show?" you'll be all "Si*Sé who?" ERIK HENRIKSEN

WEDNESDAY 11/30

TREY ANASTASIO, HACKENSAW BOYS

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) I can hear what you're thinking, so stop being such a dick. So yeah, okay, you're right: Trey Anastasio is pretty much exactly the stoner cliché that Phish fans have made him into—this weird pseudo-messiah of jam happy, masturbatory noodlin,' full of good vibes and love, man. But you've listened to Phish, man! I know you have! Everybody has. (Shit, I even went to one of their shows. In Boise. And it was rad—once I got past the fact that I was surrounded by filthy stinking hippies for like five straight hours.) And yes, those hippies (seriously, those exact same hippies) will be at this show. But it's worth putting up with them to hear a few great guitar riffs and poppy-yet-45-minute-long extended jams, yeah? You'll have a good time despite your snarky self, is my guess, if only because you'll be high off of all the secondary marijuana smoke. It's all about the vibes, man. EH

KING'S X, MARDO

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) If you grew up during what you like to think of as the "grunge era" and consider yourself attached to the bands and icons that colored this phase in Western music history, then you should (if you haven't already) familiarize yourself with King's X. They are credited (by whoever the powers that be are who assign credit for this sort of thing) to be the very inventors of grunge, though they may at first impression seem like an unassuming power trio from Texas. In fact maybe if they had made more of an ass out of you and me, they would have gotten a little more credit, like their chart-topping peers and copiers. Anyhow, better late than never to show 'em you care. MS

THE MEZZ, MISSION 5, VISIBLE MEN

(Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) There's something I love about getting dressed up in black (with a floral shawl), going to a place like the Aladdin, and sipping red wine while fake-y laughing with people twice my age. I do this at Pink Martini shows and I would do it at the Visible Men—it's sooo Portland. This new trio, former duo, provides an amalgam of jazz, pop, and coherent/sometimes funny lyrics with a smooth lounge stamp across every song. Dustin Lanker's vocals are stripped of cheesy vibrato and forced tone-deepening that typically accompanies music with a smoking jacket sensibility. The intense classical training of all three members is self-evident but this has not blocked them from veering onto several creative paths of alternate structure, unique instrument mixing, and best of all, a total sense of humor about themselves. Their latest release, Love:30, is a bummer of a disappointment after their more innovative and classically pianocentric In Socks Mode, but they're still a blast to see (remember to hold your wine glass at the base). JENNA ROADMAN