THURSDAY 6/1

SUPERSUCKERS, FITZ OF DEPRESSION, LEGEND OF DUTCH SAVAGE

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Supersuckers haven't released much in the last year or so besides the Mid-Fi Field Recordings live CD, but that doesn't mean they super suck. On the contrary, yo, the Supes have always been about the live show, the in-yer-grill country-bar rock show that recalls a young Patrick Swayze sayin' something like "Yo, motherfuckers who talk shit on us for not releasing any new music... it's my way or the highway!" Course, only the latter bit of that quote is P.Swayze's but amalgamation's the name of the game for the Supersuckers. Punk plus country. Honky-tonk gone grunge. Amalgamations, folks. GRANT MORRIS

CLOUDS RECORD STORE OPENING PARTY W/PETE SWANSON OF YELLOW SWANS, LEIF SUNDSTROM OF GOD, GHOSTING, DJ DIALATE, DJ P SWANS, CHRISTOPHER NAKAYAMA

(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) See Feature, pg. 15.

...WORMS, OWL DUDES, ME CON

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

BOY LEAST LIKELY TO, THE BICYCLES, THE VILLAGE GREEN

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) One thing I've never been able to understand is how the word "cute" (and everything to which it applies) ever got a negative connotation. Application of "twee" as an adjective, for example, is typically regarded as a bad thing. Why? What's wrong with cute? What's wrong with twee? There's a lot to be said for the adorable. Case in point: the Boy Least Likely To. Happy, feel-good British pop with song titles like "Warm Panda Cola," "I'm Glad I Hitched My Apple Wagon to Your Star," and "Hugging My Grudge." Songs peppered with toyish xylophones and dancey jangles. As with so much of this kind of music, there is the dark side present, albeit with a sunny, upbeat spin. "How did I get to be such a mess so soon in my life?" one member of the duo ponders in typical, sunny fashion. It's bands like these that demonstrate just how light life is as a whole, and if the fact that it's cute seems uncool, then I think we're all better off throwing away our sunglasses. GARETT STRICKLAND

TV:616, INFLIKT, SUPERNAUT

(Sabala's, 4811 Hawthorne) Locals TV:616 are calling it a day. Says band member Keith Brown, "Basically things had run [their] course for us. We started becoming more interested in other projects and TV got put so far on the back burner that it was nonexistent. We stopped playing together and weren't even planning on a finale until I saw that the date 6/1/6 was coming up so I thought it might be a fitting end to it all. It is the only time this date will come up in our lifetime, so why not." ADAM GNADE

HOLOCENE THREE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY W/APE SHAPE, ROLLERBALL, SMALL SAILS, SLIM MOON, WHAT ARMY

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) I asked Scott McLean and Jarkko Cain from Holocene to tell me what it's been like these past few years and they answered collectively saying, "When we started we had no idea where we would be in three years. We've been able to bring music we love to Portland, work with completely amazing people making music and art in Portland, stay fairly nice, and make Holocene work well as a business... so we're happy. But we still have so many projects in the works that it's impossible to feel completely satisfied. We are really excited about the evolution of [record label] Holocene Music. It's a total dream because it lets us work even more closely with the music we're most inspired by, and at the same time force our own peculiar tastes on the world at large." AG

EXIT THE KING

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Austin extreme-music-heads Exit the King fall somewhere between the Locust's synth shred and Converge's speed vis-à-vis technicality. And they've got pretty great lyrics too—as evidenced by the song "Carthorse," which goes something like, "this epiphany is a nail bomb/no gods/no more masters/surging cult of the sovereign/the ugly Schauspiel of bogus altruism poisons the earth and leaves for dead the disloyal/archaic ideology burns and fades away." AG

FRIDAY 6/2

ALEXIS, DOGME 95, E*ROCK, BARR

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) BARR is Brendan Fowler's weird, squawky, talking songs that are half sociopolitical rant, half experimental revamp of basic punk rock. It's not for everyone but like Fowler says on "Is All for Updated," "what if they don't like us/this type of music/then fuck them." It's angry, full of heated debate, solutions provided to big social problems, and ideas about living on the fringe of society. But it's also funny as fuck, and—if you're in the right headspace—you can dance to it. Check out Fowler's Beyond Reinforced Jewel Case record. Guaranteed it'll sound like something new; because, y'know, it is. AG

WHITE FANG, COLE MILLER ISLAND, DUST COLLECTOR

(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) Born in Menlo Park, California, Cole Miller (of Sneakypine) plays mellow, mildly psychedelic folk where he hums over almost Spanish guitar and barely there, tapping percussion. With his dry, nontraditional voice and you-can-do-this-too instrumentation, it's very K Records-y—in the best possible way—but Miller's music is out on Stop Drop Records, where you can find a couple self-titled CD-Rs and the CD-R single "Ice Songs." JASON PEARSON

LES CLAYPOOL, RASPUTINA

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Tap-slap-frog-arranger Les Claypool is coming to the Roseland to lay down the buzz-burp-baritone of his fantastic funk. Madness guaranteed. Les has been leading the bass battalions for decades; he's a pioneer, an innovator in the frequencies of rumble. Les is one of those rare breeds with the talent to make an entire generation of musicians rethink their approach to rhythm. And through no fault of his own, he is almost single-handedly responsible for the revival of the aggressive bass sound in pop/rock that helped bands like Limp Bizkit and Korn achieve superstardom. Opening for Claypool is Victorian super-trio Rasputina. Fronted by sultry cellist Melora Creager, Rasputina spin dark and cobwebbed yarns, reaching into the arcane corners of cultural consciousness and pulling out daguerreotype stories. Two cellos, buoyed by drums, breathe the dramatic shades and contrasts of rock 'n' roll into images of the past. THADDEUS CHRISTIAN

CABINESSENCE, THE QUAGS, MIRAFLORES

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) On Cabinessence's MySpace page, dudes say they're from "Willamette Valley, Oregon." Bros. Friends. Homies. Let's call a spade a spade. All right? You're totally from Portland and we all know it. Reason I want to make sure everybody knows you're Portlanders is your music is bangingly sweet. It's like if the David Bowie-ish character from Velvet Goldmine came alive and countryfied his glam rock. Nice. GM

DOCTOR MOSS, I-DRIVE

(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) Doctor Moss comes thundering out of Portland's underbelly with a heavy, heavy, heavy sound that feels like Hendrix's "Band of Gypsies" doing "Machine Gun" as informed by masters of dynamics Mogwai. Led by a triple-plate-glass-thick baritone guitar, the band's drums, bass, and second guitar go nuts with the prog changes and screwy time signatures but make it feel seamless. Also playing is I-Drive, another experimental prog-rock explosion dead-set perfect for anybody down with King Crimson and their brains-plus-brawl ilk. AG

SATURDAY 6/3

PIG CHAMPION TRIBUTE NIGHT W/ZEKE, SKULLSPLITTER, DEAD FRIENDS

(Sabala's, 4811 Hawthorne) It's a trib night for PDX's rockin' (but sadly gone) PIG CHAMPION. Hell yeah, bring on the dirty, greasy, gross, filthy punk rock and bring it in the unholy fashion of the Pig. Oh, and if you're hungry, they'll be roasting a pig and eating it at the venue. Barbarians! GM

THE EELS, SMOOSH

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) When the army of young girls on my block hit the preteen mark, an unexplainable heaviness oozed over our neighborhood like "The Nothing" in The Neverending Story. Saturday night slumber parties became whirlpools of maniacal giggling and tears, powered by overactive imaginations, blossoming sex drives, and crushing self-doubt. The paradise of childhood was lost, and we were now aware of ourselves. Listening to Smoosh's latest, Free to Stay, it's obvious that the indiepop duo have crashed into their teens. (Asya, on keyboards and vocals, is 14. Her sister Chloe, who plays drums, is 12.) Unlike their debut release, She Like Electric, which was carried through the press on wings of novelty and cuteness, and their association with Death Cab for Cutie drummer Jason McGerr, Free to Stay speaks for itself. They've made a solid album, and even though Asya doesn't have total control of her Frente!-style pipes yet, and Chloe drums with Meg White innocence, it's about time we started taking these ladies more seriously. JESSIE DUQUETTE

BENNETT'S B-DAY W/COUGHS, DYNASTY, DEAD BIRD, UNDER MOUNTAINS

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Bennett Yankey does a shit-ton of hard work keeping Food Hole running smooth and sweet, and now the all-ages club gives him love right back. And fuck singing the birthday song because Coughs, Dead Bird, and Under Mountains will do all that and more. Tonight the birthday cake is full of files and shoe nails, and napalm. AG

YOUNG PEOPLE, THE GET HUSTLE, GARLAND RAY PROJECT

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Straddling themselves between two coasts, Young People sidesteps the experimental roots of their past projects, Pink and Brown and the Janet Pants Dans Theater, in favor of a more reflective approach. The trio's take on gospel, country, and other forms of primitive Americana is sparse and haunting, often gaining emotional potency by breaking the music down to its simplest elements. It's always more of a challenge for musicians to "turn down" rather than "turn up," but when you're as masterful as Young People, you can say so much more with silence than with a row of half-stacks. JOSH BLANCHARD

THE PUNK GROUP, THE JOLENES, DANA DEATHRAY, FOGATRON

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) To declare a special interest, the Jolenes' drummer Christine Blystone has been an intern at the Mercury, so while we're absolutely not just printing this because we feel guilty about exploiting her, we sort of are because we sort of do. But wait! The Jolenes' Elastica-influenced, Dolly Parton-inspired new CD Get It to Go is easily good enough to be mentioned here without reference to their shameless "who you know" publicity approach (just forget we mentioned it, okay), and they're having a CD launch party tonight! Apart from writing songs on such deep, existential subjects as ice cream, skirt length, and "some bitch named Frenchie," the band enjoy dressing up onstage and come with a good dose of what, when music writers cover all-female bands, is normally called attitude. In other words, they're hot! The Mercury will most likely be drooling and/or drunk at the front, with free tickets, trying to remember how you spell "integrity." MATT DAVIS

TWO GALLANTS, THE PHARMACY, HILLSTOMP

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Saddle Creek golden boys the Two Gallants hail from the Bay Area, but their name's a reference to a James Joyce short story. They seem to channel his distinctly Irish literary power into simmering, lilting explosions of songcraft and storytelling. Frontman Adam Stephens manhandles a guitar as he careens between a quivering, mournful croon and a frightful, broken wail that threatens to tear open your chest. Drummer Tyson Vogel provides the frenzied backbeat to this barely harnessed energy, his cadence a wild, frenzied thing. The Two Gallants rarely deviate from this basic setup, utilizing only the most minimal additional instrumentation—and for good reason. A sound this raw and hard shakes your whole body, like a stiff wind blowing in from the fair hills of Ireland. JUSTIN W. SANDERS

SUNDAY 6/4

PORTALS, RED FANG, DARK SKIN

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Quick metal quiz! The world needs more: (A) hard rock bands, (B) nuclear winters, (C) colostomy bags, (D) Jeb Bush presidencies, or (E) none of the above. Okay, so try explaining that to the drunk super-cavemen of Red Fang. This tight-knit group of friends has collectively blown speakers in Partytime, Last of the Juanitas, Face Down in Shit, Lachrymator, Bad Wizard, etc. Red Fang follows that lineage with a good old-fashioned Northwest heavy rock attack (think classic grunge), infused with a bit of San Diego style (think Hot Snakes) and a vocalist that sounds not unlike Tad Doyle aping Ian MacKaye. Main support and West Coast tour companions Portals are the brainchild of Salt Lake City transplant Eric Olsen. This man-mountain has a singular vision—to write shredding melodic metal songs that gallop like Maiden, shine like Queen, and tap dance like the Fucking Champs. NATHAN CARSON

MIKAELA'S FIEND, DRUGS

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Seattle's Mikaela's Fiend are oft mislabeled as "Mikaela's Friend," but there is nothing friendly about the group's punk skronk and wailing feedback-as-guitar-riffs and guitar-riffs-as-feedback. MF bust out slippery, squeaking nasties that scream like eagles and sting like nettles. Sometimes fiends are better than friends. AG

MONDAY 6/5

MUSTAPHAMOND, SEAN, DJ NATE C

(Tube, 13 NW 3rd) Tonight local prog-rock scientists Mustaphamond will be performing a 50-minute-long song. Fuckin' A, right? Prepare to have your juicy innards stirred up by big, busting changes, semi-blast-beats, and enough beefy instrumentation to build a prime rib luncheon for the Million Man March. SEAN, from Seattle, play whacked-out synth grindcore that swims in the same kiddie pool as Hella, but never, ever pisses in the water. Scout's honor. AG

HOWLIN' RAIN, ETERNAL TAPESTRY

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Howlin' Rain's Ethan Miller conjures a convincing rural rasp that fits this trio's country-tinged classic rock, but he betrays his allegiance to his day-job outfit Comets on Fire with sporadic feedback freakouts. When his guitar erupts midway through the folksy foot-stomper "Calling Lightning with a Scythe," it's like a spectacular electrical storm interrupting a front-porch jamboree. Howlin' Rain's Southern-style jam segments and artful noise outbursts both demand live expansion. ANDREW MILLER

TUESDAY 6/6

SATAN'S BIRTHDAY!!! FOOD HOLE'S FESTIVAL OF BANALITY

(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) So it's 6/6/06 and the Food Hole's celebratin' with Satan! Although, at press time (which is kinda like Miller Time), the lineup hadn't been announced, so I hereby submit my list of the most Satanic musical acts ever: Slayer (duh), Deicide, David Hasselhoff, Prince (he sold his soul for eternal awesomeness), Celine Dion (don't deny the true Dark Lord), and me, Grant Morris, writing my Up and Coming BACKWARD. Seriously, bros, hold this one up to a mirror and it'll read, "Hail Satan. Hail Lucifer. Shop at Wal-Mart." Evil reigns! GM

WEDNESDAY 6/7

NIRE, DYKERITZ, JUNKFACE

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Gotta love a CD release show! Tonight local plaaaayas Nire drop their new one, My Father's Record Player, which is kinda Elliott Smithish, kinda British sounding, kinda—no fully—rad. But here's some rock-show etiquette for y'all: If you go to someone's CD party (espesh someone local!) and you don't buy said 'bout-to-be-released CD you are a douche deserving of things like savage nard kicking, pants-ing, or itching powder tossed down the back. Seriously, yo, this is war. GM

SHARRON KRAUS, JAMES BLACKSHAW, SEAN SMITH

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) The UK's Sharron Kraus evokes the stark highlands sound of spiritual forbearers like Shirley Collins and Bert Jansch. Kraus received her doctorate in philosophy at Oxford, and her own work is similarly grounded in acknowledgment of the past. In partnership with singer Christian Kiefer on this year's The Black Dove, she focuses on the relationships that make up classic murder ballads. For her Imaginational Anthem Vol. 2 song, "Looking for the Hermit's Cave," she meticulously builds up banjo lines from a solemn pluck to a pulse-quickened step. ANDY BETA