(Hollywood Theatre, 4122 NE Sandy) Jandek's not for everybody. Playing songs while beating on one harsh, sharp, out-of-tune chord while howling weird, deathly gravediggers' blues is not for everybody. Hiring people that've never played drums before to drum on your records is not for everybody. Rhyming non sequiturs and spoken vocals are not for everybody. Spooky, rural folk put into Asian song structure is for damn sure not for everybody. But goddamnit it's for me. And maybe it's for you too. To hell with the great, proverbial "everybody" anyway. ADAM GNADE
THE GREENHORNES, WILLOWZ, THE M'S, DEATHRAY DAVIES
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week! pg. 17.
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Anyone who has heard the Books can tell you that their voice is rather difficult to place. They have a talent for coupling unusual samples of people speaking, announcing, and lecturing with electronically manipulated tones, notes, and instrumental patterns. The result is quite elegant, and seems to approach a realm of almost divine beauty. I've always had a feeling that the Books have been driving at some kind of important, transcendental meaning in their music, even if that meaning is simply the mood that they create. Something below the surface suggests more than what the listener actually hears, and this is very much a part of the group's charm. On their latest full-length, Lost and Safe, they have introduced yet another facet woven into their colorful orchestrations. Singing. Pleasantly, the presence of lyrics does not serve to hinder the cryptic quality of their music, but rather deepens what is already there. GARETT STRICKLAND
ROONEY, LEAVING THE SCENE, EVERYBODY ELSE
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Dude, it's pretty frickin' awesome of Hawthorne Theatre to let cantankerous ol' 60 Minutes commentator Andy Rooney headline this show. In tribute to the artiste behind such gold-plated monologues as, "Ever wonder why the homeless get the best shopping carts?" we bring you a recent CBS dispatch from the man himself: "Well, my Girl Scout Cookies came. Usually I just eat them, but this time I've been trying to find out more about them. Harder than I thought it would be. The Girl Scouts buy them for about 85 cents a box. They sell them for $3.50 a box so the girls are pretty good businessmen. Last year they sold 200 million boxes—that's $700 million. As I understand it, the Girl Scouts get to keep about two-thirds of that. I don't know exactly what they do with it. All kinds of good things they tell me. One box label reads 'Made for the Little Brownie Bakers in Louisville, Kentucky.' Not 'made BY' Little Brownie Bakers but 'made FOR' Little Brownie Bakers. They're actually made by the giant cookie company, Keebler. Keebler is owned by Kellogg's but their name isn't on the box, either. Nothing simple about this. The other company that makes Girl Scout Cookies is ABC Bakers. ABC Bakers is owned by Interbake Foods in Richmond, VA. I've tasted most of these and they're pretty good." GRANT MORRIS
THANKSGIVING, MOUNT EERIE, METAL, WHITE FANG, JOHN KRAUSBAUER
(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) See Music, pg. 21.
NINJA ACADEMY, THE MORMONS, JUNIOR PRIVATE DETECTIVE, JUNK FACE
(Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy) No matter where you go these days you can't escape the white shirt/black tie/bicycle helmet brigade. Fresh out of Mormon boot camp these dead-eyed, drooling clones barrage anyone who will listen with the kind of regurgitated manipulative guilt that would make the US government proud. Where does the band the Mormons come in? Smash together Devo and the Dead Kennedys, add a dash of Talking Heads, and you have a stew from which these Mormons crawl. Sporting traditional Mormon bike-drone garb they put on a flailing show, the kind of rowdy action bound to throw the LDS moral police into a frothing, bible-waving tizzy. ELI JEMISON, FORMER MORMON
SAVES THE DAY, CIRCA SURVIVE, MONEEN, DOWN TO EARTH APPROACH
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Saves the Day inspires me to do the following three things. (1) Toss their emo-as-fuck CD in my roommate's cat box, which is full of dried, dead flatworms and runny, diseased shit (his cat's got something weird going on; her crap stinks like Cheez Whiz with a coppery after smell.) (2) Climb up on the grassy knoll in Dallas and fire a magic bullet into whoever signed them. (3) Destroy their tour bus with the Jaws of Life and then crash a burning pickup truck into the wreckage. They're just one of those inspiring bands, y'know, just really inspiring. AG
WALLY SHOUP, TIM DU ROCHE, DOUG THERIAULT
(Blue Monk, 3341 SE Belmont) Wally Shoup is swooping down from Seattle to join with local improv devotees Du Roche (drums, bells, kitchen sink) and Theriault (guitar) to make your loins good 'n' hot! When you get folks together who live and breathe improvised music like it's a religion, you generally end up with some of the most punk-rockinest ecstatic noise barrage around (even when it's mellow). Shoup has been loving his sax since the mid-'70s, and he's recently received some attention for jamming hard with Thurston Moore and other current free-steppers. Du Roche and Theriault are some of Portland's own gold, and in combo with Wally I can only imagine the spine-tingle skin-buzz sensations will be mighty and warm and welcome. Sometimes it's hard for folks to see how much this music kicks ass (forest for the trees and all), but just imagine hearing all the clutch moments in your future favorite songs being created out of thin air and then immediately abandoned all in a row while you sit there with your jaw dropped and your mind reeling. I'm serious about your loins, you will feel the fire, for sure. DAN BRYANT
BIBLE OF THE DEVIL, DIXIE WATCH, BLACK ELK, THE NERDS ROCK INFERNO, JOHN RAMBO
(Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) If Lemmy Kilmister, Dave Murray, and Phil Lynott joined forces and toured the Tucson, El Paso, Juarez, Nogales circuit for a couple years, they'd come out sounding like Bible of the Devil. Boot stompin' and skull smashing, these guys are strictly a whiskey and Bud Light crowd. Faster than Thin Lizzy and with less bullshit than Iron Maiden, Chicago's BOTD carry the burning metal torch from where Motörhead left it in 1982, proving just how far behind the Midwest really is. Ozzy would be proud of songs like "Warrior Fugue" and "Night Wraith," and, of course, no classic metal band would be complete without an ode to life-destroying controlled substances like "Cocaine Years, Cocaine Tears." Bible of the Devil tour continuously in the struggle to bring back denim, leather, chrome, and body hair. They're putting the cock back in rock, the power back in chords. This is music to get shitfaced to. THADDEUS CHRISTIAN
(Chinook Winds Casino, 777 NE 144th, Lincoln City) Chances are you have not kept up with Cheap Trick lately—and by "lately" I mean since Live at Budokan, or the omnificent thrift-bin find, Dream Police (forever a steal at 49 cents). Never you mind that they have put out 15 albums and are due to release number 16, Rockford (named for their hometown in downstate Illinois) in June on their own label, Cheap Trick Unlimited; you can see them play anthems of teenage sedition ("Surrender") and teenage seduction ("I Want You to Want Me"). They never broke up so there is none of that comeback ick or shtick, and the band is still notoriously good live—all this and the air-conditioned climes of a casino. Come on, feel the Illinoise! JESSICA HOPPER
WHIP, DOUGLAS SHEPARD, MATTHEW HATTIE HEIN
(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) Whip is Jason Merritt's (Timesbold) solo thing. Says Merritt, "If Timesbold music is a circus, Whip music got kicked out of the circus and is mumbling to itself in the parking lot after hours trying to open the tiger cages. Tony San Marco from Timesbold lives here too, and he'll be joining me on various small-sounding things." Whip's music is clean (but rickety) folk with banjos and shakers; mellow stuff, but Jason says his deal is more violent than it might seem. "I like to beat people up... so instead of doing that I write these songs. Douglas Shepard and Matthew Hattie Hein invited me to play this show with them, and I am grateful to have been considered by such talented and engaging songwriters. It'll probably go real smooth if people are willing to just sit and listen." AG
PINBACK, THE JADE SHADER
(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) Some of my friends say they're not smart enough to listen to Pinback. It's a valid point. In the world of indierock, where often bands attempt to substitute musical sophistication with image and earnestness, Pinback's technically miles ahead of their genre contemporaries. Their songs are layered in such complicated melodic arrangements that the actual songwriting achievements they accomplish are often lost on listeners. But you don't need a Ph.D. in musical theory to know that songs from their last album, Summer in Abaddon, like "Fortress," "AFK," and "Syracuse" sound absolutely beautiful, even to the uneducated listener. It's because Pinback's intricate and intelligent that I find new, great moments every time I enter their world. BART SCHANEMAN
MATES OF STATE, VIVA VOCE, MECCA NORMAL, THE KINGDOM
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg. 21.
PAINT IT BLACK, LOVED ONES, SHOOK ONES, 800 OCTANE
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Paint it Black is Dan Yemin from Lifetime, who recently caused a sputtering shitstorm in the national hardcore scene by signing to the (quote unquote uncool) Fueled by Ramen label. What it added up to was a lotta big babies crapping in their big baby diapers and crying about selling out and losing fans and getting old. So, a quick message to all you hardcore purists: Get the fuck over it. You like Lifetime, right? It made a big difference in your life, right? It will for other people too. Quit bitching and learn to share, assholes. But this isn't about Lifetime—really—it's about Paint it Black, who make short, brutal, ball-busting punk songs with infinitesimally small shoegazer breakdowns compressed and micro-condensed into the deluge. If you like Lifetime you'll probably like Paint it Black. Either way, this is a good band that sounds like angry, smart political science professors playing punk with hammers instead of drumsticks and more guitar noise than 66 Guitar Center locations stacked atop each other, then dynamited from below. AG
BLACKALICIOUS, LIFESAVAS, FATLIP WITH OMNI, PIGEON JOHN
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Music, pg. 19.
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) For those few who are still unconvinced of Ryan Adams' douchebaggery—what, his music's not enough for you?—allow me to direct you to his acknowledgements for 29 (one of three albums the dude released last year): "Thank you," Adams notes, to "Dave Letterman—for all the laughs when I needed them most." Ugh. Douche. He follows the Dave tribute with more props—to "Jay-Z—true inspiration never fades to black." Man, I bet that really made Jay-Z's day! God. What. A. Fucking. Douche. And—hard as it may be to believe—there's more douchery: In a now-infamous incident in Nashville in '02, that humorless prick Adams kicked somebody out of one of his shows when the guy shouted out a request for Bryan Adams' "Summer of '69." Granted, Bryan Adams sucks, but that's a hilarious joke—all the more because the shitty "'69" is leagues better than any of that cutesy, halfhearted, uninspired, self-indulgent, squeaky-clean mock-rock/faux-country that Adams shovels out on a brand-new album like every two weeks. And this guy hooked up with Lindsay Lohan? Fuck you, douche. (Oh, and Ryan, if you're reading this, two things: First, you're a douche, and second, while you're off fucking yourself, please give Ms. Lohan my number: 503-740-0918. Because she's hot and, unlike you, I am not a douche.) ERIK HENRIKSEN
WILDERNESS, PARKS & LABOR, WE'RE FROM JAPAN!
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Vessel States, the second album by Baltimorean quartet Wilderness has people drawing comparisons to the likes of P.I.L. because of the glassy guitar, the minimalism, the shrill, unsingerly singer, yadda yadda. But you know, that's just our tainted brainpans—four-plus years of Interpol-alikes running roughshod on our ears and now everything this side of Young Jeezy is goddamn death disco! Wilderness creates long loping meditations, burring arcs and drones, those pit-r-patty drums grind toward a petite mort of revelatory discordance. If Baltimore was ever on indierock's map, Wilderness would surely be restoring Charm City's renown. JH
GARGANTULA, THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 13 NW 3rd) Metal gets written off sometimes as having limited range, all thrash, wank, and lowbrow aesthetic, and that's total bullshit. Like any kind of music, metal comes in all shades and stripes. Brutally fast, sludgy like lake mud, smart and lean, stupid and clichéd. Gargantula grinds out heavy and slow and sounds like they want to smash your brains out, eat them between two slices of sourdough bread, then reanimate your corpse and have it join the band, jagged broken skull and all. AG
THE MAGIC NUMBERS, WILLY MASON
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) If the Magic Numbers play "Love Me Like You," and they will—it's their BIG SONG—then, no matter what, this show is worth it. It's AM radio '60s pop as played by modern songwriters. Sometimes they sound like sunny singalongs with Coldplay's Chris Martin had he ever decided to quit bitchin' and just get happy, bring his sister along for the ride, and make folky, uptempo rock, and GET OVER HIMSELF. That's not enough? If Willy Mason plays "Oxygen," and he will—it's his BIG SONG—then expect to hear a young, like barely 20, folksinger tap into the zeitgeist and articulate a sentiment that's both universal and inwardly expressive. He's not yet the next big thing. But if he lives up to his potential he could be a powerful, important songwriter. BS
SHAGGY 2 DOPE, BLAZE YA DEAD HOMIE, SUBNOIZE SOULJAZ, AXE MURDER BOYS
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Shaggy 2 Dope's one of the stupid twats from Insane Clown Posse. I ain't suggestin' this or anything, yo, but if someone were to, say, let off a massive tear gas canister in the Roseland tonight, I wouldn't complain. GM
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 19.
PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES, THE JOGGERS, YOU SAY PARTY, WE SAY DIE
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Seattle's Pretty Girls Make Graves are growing up. While it's certain their live show will be as jam-packed as ever with sweaty kids—all jostling for the most up-close-and-personal spot in front of the stage (the better to catch frontwoman Andrea Zollo's every word, and check out the new keyboardist, Leona Marrs)—the album they're celebrating tonight, Élan Vital, is a new chapter for the band. The follow-up to their kickass album The New Romance, Élan Vital is more mellow and expansive: The sort of album die-hard fans, used to the band's edgier, more punk-driven sound, will be unsure of at first. But after three or four spins, the original, more mature rock in this album will win you over. AJ
YEAH YEAH YEAHS, BLOOD ON THE WALL
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See CD Reviews, pg. 23.
WILL OLDHAM IN OLD JOY
(Guild Theatre, 1219 SW Park) See Movies, pg. 48.
PDX FILM FESTIVAL PARTY W/WHITE RAINBOW
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Tonight's the kick-off party for the Portland Documentary and eXperimental Film Festival which takes place April 26-30 at the Guild Theatre. Shit's free with a festival pass or five bucks. What that gets you is the party, of course, and a "sound/video performance/installation" from White Rainbow. Check out the festival's schedule online at peripheralproduce.com AG See also CD Reviews, pg. 23.