sigur ros Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, 5/4

THURSDAY 5/4

CINCO DE MAYO BOMB W/BOW WOW, TWISTA, NE-YO, E-40 WITH KEAK DA SNEAK, DEM FRANCHIZE BOYZ, RAY J, LIL' ROB, CHAMILLIONAIRE, T-PAIN, BUBBA SPARXXX, AND RIHANNA

(Rose Garden, One Center Court) When was the last time a pop song ushered in a specific dance? The Macarena? Vogueing? After seeing the video for Dem Franchize Boyz' "Lean Wit It, Rock Wit It," which demonstrates the dance that DFB made up for the song, I was hard pressed to believe that leaning and rocking could constitute a dance or that anyone would do it. Then, a few weeks ago, I was walking down the street, and some cars were stuck in traffic, all tuned to the same station, and I saw four people spontaneously start doing the move instructed in the chorus right there on the sidewalk: two teenage boys and two girls who were about four or five. Then, last week, in the club, the DJ dropped it and in unison, people went from humping each other's legs to tottering from one leg to the other like they were standing up in a canoe and snapping. The un-dance phenomena has arrived. JESSICA HOPPER See also Music, pg. 17.

TV ON THE RADIO, CELEBRATION, DJ IZM

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) I can't think of a better introduction to TV on the Radio than the single "Staring at the Sun" from their full-length Desperate Youth, Blood Thirsty Babes. It begins with this warm low-synth sound, some background choral oooohhhhh, and then Tunde Adepimbe comes in with this HUGE voice. He begins "cross the street from your storefront cemetery" and it continues in a lifting vocal harmony that keeps growing, driving it up, harder, larger as it swells into a funk, rhythm, electronic, and soul-singing hot-air balloon from which they lower a rope halfway through the song. But it's a trick. They're gone. Floating up through the Postal Service's "This Place is a Prison," on their way to stage a fake assassination of Ben Gibbard, but only because Adepimbe and Dave Sitek's vocals fit this type of music much better. BART SCHANEMAN

GREEN MILK FROM THE PLANET ORANGE, GET HUSTLE, BIRDS OF AVALON, SILENTIST

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Japan's Green Milk from the Planet Orange have consumed several decades' worth of psychedelic/hard rock and beyond—touching on everything from Zeppelin to Hendrix to Unwound to the Allman Brothers—and created their own talent-ridden hybrid of those disparate influences. North Carolina's Birds of Avalon also mine from decades-past ghosts. Psyche, arena, glam—it's all in there. But as with their bill-mates, Birds of Avalon expertly traverse all this information, picking up what they like and adding it to a sound that's simultaneously familiar and new. GRANT BRISSEY

BURN TO SHINE SCREENING

(Guild Theatre, 829 SW 9th) See Music, pg. 19.

WHITE ROSE MOVEMENT, THE PRIDS, TO LIVE AND DIE IN LA

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) If you haven't heard much about London's White Rose Movement yet, don't worry; the buzz will be inescapable soon enough. Fans of early Depeche Mode or new wave aficionados who prefer their electronica with a sharp edge will undoubtedly be pleased. After a few European tours with the Kills and MIA, they're heading stateside for the first time. HANNAH LEVIN

SIGUR ROS, AMIINA

(Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, 1037 SW Broadway) Jazz and blues have won their way into the hearts and archives of current classical music enthusiasts, but imagine what musicians will be so similarly esteemed in the future. What will be adopted, held aloft on pedestals and lit in reverence, preserved as highbrow taste by future generations? I suspect the lush, orchestral rock compositions of Sigur Ros will be among them. It's difficult to tell, given the fact that most of us do not understand Icelandic (or Hopelandic, for that matter), and so cannot gauge the lyrics one way or the other. But it doesn't really matter. Voice is used, it seems, not for words, but rather as an instrument. Ethereal operas, sweeping builds, and crescendos of mood and emotion. Their new album Takk... is sunlight coming through the window and pooling in your sheets, images of snow, children playing, and kissing someone in the rain. Above all, it's Hope. It's Peace. It's Beauty. GARETT STRICKLAND

FRIDAY 5/5

MORNINGWOOD, FINGER BANG CITY

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) "N-N-N-N-New York girls, come on/you know you're hot/a-a-a-attitude/and that's what makes you rock!" chants Morningwood's Chantel Claret on the song "New York Girls," and if you're not already opening your wrists with a straight razor maybe you should start back at the top and read it again. Their new self-titled record is a rip-off of every rip-off band that ever ripped off something great, and in turn sounds like a big, vague, retro circle jerk. ("We're Joan Jett! Now we're Cheap Trick! Now we're the NY Dolls!") Portland's Finger Bang City, on the other hand, is fun as fuck, with trashy throwaway raps, hyper sexed-up flows, and song titles like "Show Us Your Penis." It's also hard to hate a band that lists among its influences shit like "fisting, lesbians, straight people, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, fast cars, I Saw U's, road rage, elevator music, stealing cars, pregnancy tests, shot-gun weddings, crossdressing, working out, yoga, stuffing our bras, turkey and stuffing." I Saw U's... being the reason to go to this show. Fuck Morningwooden's phony riffs and blatant rock plagiarism. Support the locals. Support the weird. ADAM GNADE

BURN TO SHINE VIEWING PARTY, TINY VICTORIES MUSIC VIDEO FEST

(Acme, 1305 SE 8th) See Music, pg. 19.

FLYING FORTRESS, OCEAN, BLÖÖDHAG, BLACK ELK

(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) See Music, pg. 19.

PLANTS, MAGIC CARPATHIANS, PAINT AND COPTER

(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) Formed in 1998 by Marek Styczynski and Anna Nacher, Poland's the Magic Carpathians use Asian and European ethnic instruments to build eerie, buzzing soundscapes that sound like soundtracks—if soundtracks tracked your best, prettiest (and weirdest) dreams. If a giant mystical god made wind chimes out of windmills and femur bones and just let everything clatter and bang and whump away... it still wouldn't be this good. AG

DND, THE SNUGGLE UPS, ARGUMENTIX, ATOLE, DJ TIGERSTRIPES

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Fuck fantasy role-playing games, DND is not short for Dungeons & Dragons; it's an abbreviation for Do N Dudes (as in having sex with men.) The electro trash-house project started this past March during Copy and Atole's California tour as a tribute group covering songs by Grace Jones, Prince, Madonna, etc., with music crafted by Marius Libman from Copy and vocals by Manny Reyes (from the Merc-described "Portland's Mexican dreamboat" Atole). Tim Ferrell (Fleshtone's visual guy) and choreographer Mikey Nay Nay round out the group. Tonight's their first official show. Dance yourself into your casket. AG

SATURDAY 5/6

DESTROYER, HUDSON BELL, NICK JAINA

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Local bro Nick Jaina is a Binary Doll. Homeboy's also been a Be Good Tanya and served (fun, happy, creative) sentences in the rock 'n' roll brig with Lackthereof, the Maybe Happening, and Myshkin's Ruby Warblers. The guy's solo stuff is very Leonard Cohen-y, like a smart, quiet cat kickin' it in his living room parlor, plunkin' chords on the whites and blacks, and singing about being alive and self-conscious in America. There's a li'l Tom Waits in there (though, like, way less gruff), some Ben Folds, and even a bit of ol' Elliott Smith. If you haven't checked his act out, please do so at your earliest convenience. Like, tonight, yo. Destroyer, what with all its faux Dylan bullshite and soooo consciously clever lyrics (look how smart I am!) can eat... hmmm... maybe nine iPods fulla virtual DICKS. But go with Jaina. He's yer man. Frisco's Hudson Bell's totally bangin' too—if lo-fi, Pavement-recalling indierock can be bangin'. GRANT MORRIS See also Music, pg. 17.

SUNDAY 5/7

GUY CLARK, RACHEL HARRINGTON

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Straight out of Townes Van Zandt-ville (who wrote one of the tracks on his new album, The Dark), Guy Clark sings literate, melodic country songs that, once heard, sound like something that's been a part of your entire life. He's been covered extensively by Jerry Jeff Walker (whose rendition of Clark's "LA Freeway" is one of my favorite things ever), Vince Gill, and even Johnny Cash—but nothing compares to Clark's own versions, which are creaky and dusty and perfect and timeless. Join me in the front row so we can raise a beer to this man; he's one of the greatest songwriters alive. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS

MONDAY 5/8

ISLANDS, BUSDRIVER, CADENCE WEAPON

(Loveland, 320 SE 2nd) Islands features Nick Diamonds and J'aime Tambour, who toiled in the Unicorns, a whimsically unhinged Montreal rock troupe that sometimes succumbed to cloying cutesiness. Now as Islands, they channel their inner Elephant 6/Animal Collective fanboy and squeeze him for a more refined pop levity. Islands' debut disc, Return to the Sea, is a dinghy of mood-elevating prog-pop that reaches a peak on "Volcanoes" and "Where There's a Will," the latter of which features antic, lickety-spit rhymes by LA-based MC Busdriver. DAVE SEGAL

NECROPHAGIST, neuraxis, alarum, arsis, CEREMONIAL CASTINGS

(Rock n Roll Pizza, 11140 SE Powell) Hailing from Germany, Necrophagist lay down precision death metal in the classic Teutonic style (think Beethoven or Wagner): heavy, technical, and innovative, with unstoppable chops. The grooves are fast and flawless. Should I mention the p-word? Progressive. That's what it's about! New ideas! New patterns for the brain! This music is rooted in the same ethereal reserve of inspiration that gave us Pythagoras and the internal combustion engine. Who can't dig a little creative precision? Except, perhaps, those odd Neanderthals (pop-punk fans?) who think musical ability is for squares. If this is you, don't waste your time, stay home and play airplane-glue mustache with your kids until we breed out your defective genes. The support lineup is rock solid: Montreal grind act Neuraxis, Australia's Alarum, who play progressive jazz/surf metal, epic East Coast blackmetalsmiths Arsis, and Washington's Ceremonial Castings. THADDEUS CHRISTIAN

ACID MOTHERS TEMPLE, THE ANTARCTICANS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Acid Mother Temple's Kawabata Makoto calls his Japanese ensemble's output "trip music," but it's far from your mellow Grateful Dead meanderthon. No, what AMT do with rock is much more combustible. They set off plumes of noise that uses the primordial blues deconstructions of Blue Cheer and MC5 as a springboard to leverage more extreme manifestations of cacophony. Call it transcendental devastation. AMT are also musical chameleons, assuming the traits of rock deities like Black Sabbath, King Crimson, Gong, Mothers of Invention, and Hawkwind. No matter what skin they're in, though, this gig should be another gobsmacking cosmic inferno. DAVE SEGAL

TUESDAY 5/9

CHILD PORNOGRAPHY, EREBUS NYX & STYX, ARGUMENTIX, MATTRESS

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Child Pornography's bawled, hollering vocals come buried in distortion and skuzzy, greasy, electro fuzz. It's sort of a clumsy, mongoloid version of Le Tigre with weird, Tourette's delivery, 50-cent Casio riffs, and wimpy electronic drums that smack down with all the skull-crushing power of a baby's fist. Which is just a long, drawn-out way of saying this band rules. I love this band. AG

JASON WEBLEY

(Red & Black Café, 2138 SE Division) This show will not have fireworks. There won't be a laser light display, elaborate backdrops, or surprise walk-ons by aging guitar gods from other bands. There won't be glitter-soaked nymphets in pasties and red, white, and blue hot pants writhing on the floor with exotic animals or reptiles. Man, there won't even be a smoke machine. Nope, all you get is some dude in a weathered fedora with an accordion. But, it'll still be one of the best shows you'll ever see. With seemingly little effort, Seattle's Jason Webley can pied piper even the toughest crowd into happy and lighthearted submission. He'll put you through the ringer though, enticing you to riot with his gravelly caterwauling and crashing foot stomps, break your heart with raw love-lost ballads, then jerk you up by your bootstraps and hurl you into a rowdy, waltzing, barroom singalong. JESSIE DUQUETTE

WEDNESDAY 5/10

2% MAJESTY, BARK, HIDE & HORN, SHAKY HANDS

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Dear Shaky Hands of Portland: I know you're probably not down with murder and violence and revenge, but I just found another Shaky Hands online (myspace.com/theshakyhands versus your myspace.com/shakyhands). They're from New Zealand and they play rip-off Gang of Four funk. It's horrible. It's pure, hot white PAIN. It needs to be STOPPED. They also have a Nick in their band, but this one seems more down with the Rapture, silly house beats, and aping DFA bands than good, solid folk-pop. If you wanna hire a nice, ruthless, professional hitman, let me know. Maybe we can arrange something. I need an excuse to go to New Zealand anyway. AG

GOLDFRAPP

(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) The only interesting thing I could find about Goldfrapp is they're from a place called "Bath" in England. Nice, huh? Kinda cute. It's like saying, "Oh, I'm from Electric Blanket, California" or "this summer we spent a weekend in Barbeque Ribs, Florida." Goldfrapp sings about "dancing at the disco" and sounds like dancing at the disco—say, summer of '76—after the white magic's kicked in and every song sounds perfect and you feel perfect and know you look perfect. Only you're not. You have back zits, you're 42, and you rented your "sweet" leisure suit from a costume store that charged you up the ass with a whopping cleaning fee tacked on. Goldfrapp's the sound of misguided confidence, shallow druggie hubris, and fashion over substance. I wonder if the people of Bath are proud of this crap? AG

ELF POWER, THE INSTRUMENTS, THE BROTHER EGG

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Part of the Elephant 6 musical collective, Elf Power joined peers Olivia Tremor Control, the Apples (in Stereo), and Neutral Milk Hotel in a gloriously incestuous era of music making—where band members were swapped, shows featured manic creativity, and recordings took pop rock 'n' roll and turned it into noise-damaged, lo-fi beauty. Fronted by singers Laura Carter and Andrew Rieger, the band debuted in 1995 with Vainly Clutching at Phantom Limbs and followed that up with a series of EPs and LPs that expanded on the band's intellectual punk psychedelia. Elf Power's latest release, Back to the Web, their first for Rykodisc, shows them abandoning the strange, fuzzy sounds of the past for an acoustic-based sound not unlike Donovan or Portland's own Plants. If you see Back to in the record store, don't let the terrible CD cover drive you away. It's a solid piece of work to say the least. JASON PEARSON

REGINA SPEKTOR, ONLY SON

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Previously, I had written off Regina Spektor as a runner-up of the precious and precocious girl genre: like Fiona Apple with restraint, or Joanna Newsom without the baby-kitty voice—turning out her years of "classical instrument" training for her own dramatic, trilling ends. Spektor's forthcoming Begin to Hope is wonderfully sublime. Her arrangements, even at their most minimal, are lush—big, warm mid-piano chords, pizzicato strings, and syncopated drum loops abound. Her voice is stronger—she sounds assured and determined—though it hints at the precarious place between young wonder and adult cynicism, and quivers as she sings about cutting the hair of a boy she tried hard to love—"a pair of dull scissors/in the yellow light/he told me I done all right," is about as tender as sung romance gets. JH