SO MANY DYNAMOS, THE CAMERAS
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Hailing from St. Louis, Missouri, So Many Dynamos play self-described "chaotic pop" that draws from late '90s indierock (Dismemberment Plan, Les Savy Fav), twitchy math rock, and new wave. The four-piece's latest CD, When I Explode (out on Seattle's Skrocki Records), has a lean, caffeinated feel with changes switching and cracking out like bullwhips, and all instruments and voices geared toward (the often clichéd) "anthemic" side of rock. When was the last time you heard a so-described "anthemic" band that actually wrote anthems? Look no further than the Food Hole tonight. JASON PEARSON
TOTIMOSHI, DITCHLIQUOR, BLACK ELK, FACEPILOT
(Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) If there's one up-and-coming indie label I'd like to see succeed, it's Crucial Blast. Hagerstown, Maryland might seem an obscure base of operations, but check out the deep underground/off-the-beaten-path sensibilities their A&R maintains. Recent releases include the latest from drone legends Skullflower, the new wave skronk of Genghis Tron, and a split release between math-masters Orthrelm and Behold... the Arctopus. Also in this great company is Oakland grunge torchbearers Totimoshi, whose latest disc was produced by none other than Page Hamilton from Helmet. This power trio evokes the best dynamic qualities of heavy-hitters like Nirvana, Jesus Lizard, and Melvins—but have avoided thus far to commit suicide, break up, or release an album of nothing but feedback. Sure they've had more drummers than Spinal Tap, but that's what happens when you're a husband-and-wife team dedicated to touring the country relentlessly and bleeding for their art. In other great news, local boys Black Elk will also be releasing their debut on Crucial Blast later in the year. You could not ask for a more honest heavy-rock lineup. Did I mention this shit is free? NATHAN CARSON
WATERY GRAVES, WOELV, MAHER SHALAL HASH BAZ, ARRINGTON DE DIONYSO
(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
PRA BENEFIT W/AUTOPILOT, ARCULARIUS, GUAU GUAU, A CAUTIONARY TALE
(Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) A Cautionary Tale is made up of Chris Glaab (bass, sax), Rich Boles (classical guitar, xylophone), Nick O'Donnell (bass, jazz guitar), Kevin van Geem (drums), with each member handling vocals. The local combo cites acts like Pinback, Pharaoh Sanders, and Black Eyes as influences, and their sound is somewhere in the midst of said heavyweights with a little loungey, Latin flavor to sweeten the deal. Much like the Black Heart Procession's salsa-fied Amore del Tropico, when these locals are on, their mix of indierock and world music is downright intoxicating. JP
PLANTS, ALAN SINGLEY AND PANTS MACHINE, AIDAN COUGHLIN, BRIGG FAIR
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) See Music, pg. 21.
THE TOSSERS, CASEY NEILL & THE NORWAY RATS, RUM REBELLION, THE RAG AND BONE MEN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Goddamnit, I love the Rag and Bone Men. What a gnashing, wild-eyed affront to stuffy, apathetic indierock. What a savage growl of punk-meets-jig-music. With banjo, singing saw, minimal percussion, and guitar, RBM put on a show that's all pogoing beats, murder ballads, and the kind of tough, hyper-literate Irish traditionalism that the Pogues turned into holy gold. ADAM GNADE
LKN BENEFIT W/SCOUT NIBLETT, EM BROWNLOWE, SWALLOWS, WE QUIT, DJ DANTRONIX
(Modish Building, 333 SW Park) After much talk and hinting on their website, the kids behind helplkn.com have now revealed the headliner for this show (a benefit for the recently injured Lauren K. Newman.) Fucking Scout Niblett! Beloved Scout Niblett. Scout Niblett, who doesn't play Portland often enough, but when she does she makes the roof fall down on us and we love it. Hey Scout, beat all this injury bullshit down with some righteous guitar destruction. Get some justice for us. Lauren, you're in good hands. Note: Tickets won't be available at the door, only online at helplkn.com. AG
JANET JACKSON TRIBUTE W/MEGADOME, COREYCOREY, DND/COPY, PGE, HOTT PINK, DAT'R, DIANA JOY
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
IMPERIAL LEATHER, RAIDS, PRF, ABSOLUTE RULERS
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) Damn dude, who knew Stockholm could sound this punk rock? Swedes Imperial Leather are punk in the vein of, say, Vice Squad, Poison Idea, or X—when X wasn't gettin' all rockabilly silly and faux country hokey. This is totally bare-to-bones punk that makes me feel like I'm falling back on my "culture" by having long hair now. These crazies make me feel like a hippie and that's no good, yo. Check out their sizzling sweet Antibodies EP on Profane Existence Records. GRANT MORRIS
MARK EITZEL, DAMIEN JURADO, THE SOFT DRUGS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Lovable curmudgeon, tortured artist, hopeless romantic, mean drunk, town clown—Mark Eitzel plays all these roles and more. His genius is that he can't be reduced to any one of these stereotypes—and that you never know which side of him you're going to get. What you can bet on is that what you do get will be 100 percent genuine Eitzel: complexity delivered with a distinctive croon, keen eye, skewed wit, and bruised heart. Like all good poets, he's a master at turning life's lemons into wonderfully bittersweet lemonade. BARBARA MITCHELL
PORTALS, HIGHTOWER, TOWERS
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Another indicator that the Portland music scene is looking up: The Portals. A wholly entertaining live show paired with some serious rawk make for a banging Friday night soundtrack. Perhaps my dream is coming true and Portland will finally become a metal town and night after night we will wander from one ripping, serious, balls-out show to another. Until then, though, we have tonight... so plan on tying one on and moving your fingers wildly to the glorious sounds of the Portals' guitar shredding. KATIE SHIMER
PLAZM PARTY W/FLESHTONE, DJ COPY, E*ROCK, VALET, THE WATERY GRAVES, SISSYBOY, DJ SHANNON
(Disjecta, 230 E Burnside) Word is there's Valet music coming out on the Yarnlazer label, and I'm stoked out of my mind about it. Valet (you may have read in these pages before) is Honey Owens playing ambient bliss noise, songs which defy "logical" song structure and drift casually as if down a slow and rolling stream, hitting all kinds of snags and rapids and deep pools en route the big, thundering waterfall. Sometimes a light and ghostly tap of percussion comes on and pans across the speakers, or warm hums of electronic shivers moan out like transmissions from beyond the grave. Don't miss this show. AG
SHARE THE ROAD BENEFIT W/THE UPSIDEDOWN, SIX FOOT SLOTH, GINGGANG
(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) See Music, pg. 23.
KLEVELAND, MORGAN GRACE, THE ONES
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Yowza! It's Kleveland's CD release party for their hot-shit Pampelmoose debut—which still (as of press time, anyway) doesn't have a title. S'up with that? Even without a title, these songs are smokin' Runaways/Stooges/Sonics punk-pop (NOT pop-punk) that sounds like pure unadulterated SEX. As says Drew Carey, "Kleveland rocks!" GM
KENYA AIDS BENEFIT W/SEXTON BLAKE, SIMPL, THE LIGHTS OUT
(Acme, 1305 SE 8th) The fact that Simpl isn't, like, the hugest band in Portland makes me worry 'bout people's taste. Like, bros, hos, listen: Cameron Jones (ex-Pinback), David Gerritsen, Scott Hawkins, and Joshua Brookoff are crafting some perfect, gorgeous indiepop that could very easily become the next Death Cab or some shit. Wait. On second thought, leave this band alone. It's mine. I won't let your major label mitts and MTV meat hooks latch onto this one. Keep away, soul suckers! GM
JUANITA FAMILY, DRUNKEN PRAYER, PILLOWS
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
DRUGS, BIRD COSTUMES, DRAGGING AN OX THROUGH WATER, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) Approaching folk-pop from an experimental noise perspective (or perhaps vice versa), Brian Mumford, AKA Dragging an Ox Through Water, makes music that is pretty tricky to classify. Many of his songs loop simple acoustic guitar melodies and bludgeon their twinkling toes with warbling swells of oscillating synth and gated belching vocals that crack and peel in a thick web of mechanical, yet luminous love notes. His recent 7-inch/CD/EP rebukes! on Smells Delicious Records has at least two songs that perfectly capture feelings of desperate, lonely, introspective, and anxious. Piled sky-high with risk, somehow his clever lyrics and exquisite aesthetic really has the potential to cross a lot of musical boundaries and give something for anyone to enjoy. Highly recommended. JAMES SQUEAKY
HELLA, THE ADVANTAGE, OCTIS, PANTHER
(Loveland, 320 SE 2nd) Zach Hill is half of Hella and Mick Barr is half of Orthrelm—both of which make speedy futuristic noise that you're either down with or appalled by. (Some of the people appalled by their records are those same folks whose taste I put big faith in, so I take no insult in getting a "Fuck is this?" after proudly showing off one of their bands' latest.) Few months ago they put out a record as "Zach Hill and Mick Barr." It was called Shred Earthship and it was all weird shimmering speed jams with drums so fast they humming birded themselves into tiny, delicate pitter-pats and guitar that shredded heavy, but shredded outside of traditional scales, clicking and tapping with a light touch, careful technicality, and no distortion. Does that make sense? Does it make sense that Hill is also in the Nintendo cover band Advantage? Or that Barr's Orthrelm records are popular with Beethoven fans? It should, because that right there is the foundation of the sound—a digitized, Super Mario'd Beethoven all jacked on primo Gresham meth and playing spazzy keytar. On track four, "Floats," Hill and Barr hit air space somewhere around Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov's "Flight of the Bumblebee." Originally written for Rimsky-Korsakov's opera The Tale of Tsar Saltan, the song's been parodied a lot since it was composed (1899-1900) and it's probably lost some of its original hitting power. But removed from pop culture's insulting dumbdowns, it is frantic and manic and serves well as an accidental forefather to music like Hill and Barr's. (In the opera, Act Three, Prince Gvidon Saltanovich is told to change into an insect so he can fly off and visit his father, the Tsar.) Tonight Mick and Zach are playing together as Octis. AG
THE CHAPIN SISTERS, DAME SATAN, BARK, HIDE & HORN
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
GUTHRIE FAMILY LEGACY TOUR
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Musical talent, like male pattern baldness, has a nasty habit of skipping generations. (Hank Williams Jr. anyone?) Not so for the Guthries. Woody Guthrie gave our great nation "This Land Is Your Land," and a son named Arlo... who in turn delivered "Alice's Restaurant" and kept the family name—and songbook—alive for years. Now third-generation member Sarah Lee Guthrie and her husband, Johnny Irion, have taken up the torch; their debut album, Exploration, was a big hit in 2005 alt-country year-end polls. Tonight's show features Arlo, Sarah Lee, and Johnny, plus assorted siblings and cousins. A nice, twofold surprise: a folk concert where politics and humor mix without curdling, and a family celebration free of busybodies asking when you plan on getting married. KURT B. REIGHLEY
BÉLA FLECK AND THE FLECKTONES, THE DUHKS, CHRIS THILE
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Lotsa people don't know it, but I really dig jazz, man. Peeps usually look at me and they're like, "Whoa, that dude knows how to rock." Which I do! But I can kick it back, too, y'know, dial it back a notch or three. Here's somethin' kinda rad about jazz that you probably don't know: A lot of jazz musicians are down with the weed, man. A lot. And even though there's not a lot of sweet axe-work in jazz—I mean, when was the last time you heard someone doin' a guitar solo in jazz, y'know? Other than that one dude? That gypsy dude? With the 'stache? He plays guitar, but it don't count, man. That's not real guitar. Real guitar is all axe, man, some sweet riffs. But yeah, in jazz there's not any of that, but there is banjo, man, and Béla, he's a god of the banjo. You know like Lord of the Dance? Well, Béla's like that, but he's Lord of the Banjo. Sometimes he'll just tweak out on that banjo, man, like he's soaring past planets on the waves of sound and love, and it's all this laidback sorta jazz that's just totally goin' to put you in a mellow, so even if you're like "But I... " then Béla's banjo is just like "Shhhh... shhhh, li'l doggy," and you'll just calm right down. Like a nap. There isn't anythin' better to smoke weed to than some Béla, man. Well, maybe some Pink Floyd, y'know? Hey, d'you ever feel like you're a brick in a wall? I feel like that sometimes—all square and red and like I'm in some grid, y'know? But whose grid, man? Whose grid? See, that's what I love about jazz. It really makes you think. FILM EDITOR ERIK HENRIKSEN'S COLLEGE ROOMMATE, STONER GUITARIST EXTRAORDINAIRE SETH, AS TOLD TO ADAM GNADE
FOUND MAGAZINE W/DAVY ROTHBART, PETER ROTHBART
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Feature, pg. 13.
FALL OF SNOW, CEMETERY LOVE CLUB, DJ TIGERSTRIPES
(Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) Don't be afraid of the Cemetery Love Club. They are not a metal band and they do not sing songs about humping dead things. Far away from what the name might suggest, the Love Club is the child of cute indie kiddies Ryan and Kate. Oh, they're married too. And with their old organs, funky keyboards, simple drum machines, and perhaps some found sounds, the lovers layer dark little drone-y pop songs as the backdrops for Kate's sentimental voice. Imagine Low-era Bowie if he had no budget and Brian Eno hurt his feelings. Or maybe Stereolab on bad drugs. Sounds interesting, no? It is, and if the Cemetery Love Club crank up their amps loud enough, they'll turn Dunes into a dark little love church. ANDREW R. TONRY
(Oregon Zoo, 4001 SW Canyon) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
BLACK HEART PROCESSION, DAN SARTAIN, TARA JANE O'NEIL
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg. 23.
RUSSIAN CIRCLES, ME CON, ON THE FIRST DAY... THEY WERE KITTENS, NOT YETI, BUILT BY GIANTS
(Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) What a great name, Not Yeti. Something very Portland about that name. Something earthy and quasi-mystical and hairy. Not that they sound anything like their name. More so, Not Yeti goes from crazy, racing prog rock to ambient pools of ghost sound, noise experiments where everything is dark and quiet and nebulous. The combination of eerily noise journeys juxtaposed against competent, tight, rocking musicianship is fucking revelatory. AG
RED FANG, THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT, BUGS
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Finally! A reason for me to leave the goddamn house. Red Fang is a metalicious hybrid of Portland bands I've loved before. There's folks from Party Time, Lachrymator, and Last of the Juanitas all jammed into this four-piece, making it something of a Portland supergroup. Even better, Red Fang actually seems to be picking up steam, like playing more and more shows, so us metalheads can stalk them, learn all the songs, and headbang accordingly. KS