THURSDAY 11/2

JOAN JETT AND THE BLACKHEARTS, EAGLES OF DEATH METAL, THROW RAG

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Sometimes it's that simple. A haircut. A mere change of style and color. For years, Joan Jett has been rocking the short, gray butch-y cut and it kind of made me feel isolated, like she was turning into late-period Joan Baez or someone's mom or my seventh grade algebra teacher. Then, just recently, Ms. Joan goes back to the shaggy, black 'do she rocked in the Runaways and I feel like a new man. Does that make sense? Anyway, with that reverse Samson move, my fandom came back in rushing waves. I know that's shallow, but I don't care. Were the Runaways ever anything but shallow? I mean, they were young, hot girls playing basic, bare bones punk rock 'n' roll. All notions of grrl power and feminist triumphs aside, the appeal is pretty obvious. Music like the Runaways and Joan's solo stuff are obvious and simple and that's what makes them so great. So please allow me to extend a warm hand of welcome to Joan's hair. PETER DAVIS

ARRINGTON DE DIONYSO

(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) Valentine's has again and again proven itself to be a mover and a shaker in the (shall I dare call it?) Portland art scene. Weekly, the Valentine's crew presents us with the newest of new music and supplies us with big-city visual aesthetics to go with our beer. This show is no exception, bringing together our Northwestern brother Arrington de Dionyso and East Coastal sister, Sophia Dixon. The Witchcraft Rebellion titles the joint presentation of these two phenomenal and surrealistic artists in which Dixon's red ink drawings are spilling over with a raw and aching eroticism—her female models give you courage and make you cringe all at the same time. (Check out her website for other pieces—Dixon's watercolors are hyper-romantic.) De Dionyso, with whom Old Time Relijun has created a performance-based delta blues mishmash, will be present at both the opening and closing events, "drawing upon his synaesthetic readings of the artworks as scores for sound wave conduction." This perfect pairing of modern surrealists gives us the privilege of looking into the dreamscape and hallucination of the artist. Heavy and beautiful all at once, the works of these artists define our subconscious in a way that we might only guess about. SALINA NUÑEZ

BE BRAVE BENJAMIN, THE ONLINE ROMANCE

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) In an era when "twee" is as bad a cuss word as "emo," Be Brave Benjamin makes compact indiepop songs with childlike instrumentation and lowest of lo-fi production (read: simple, not noisy). But the aforementioned Benjamin is nothing akin to a pussy, wussy, or wimp. Instead, his songs have a surprising toughness, a kind of Calvin Johnson-esque baritone without an ounce of the dreaded "lilt." Sure these songs might be bedroom compositions but dude's bedroom is decorated with football posters not unicorns and candles. PD

IN GOWAN RING, KATHRINE HEILESEN, A DICTIONARY OF BLOOD THEATER

(Someday, 125 NW 5th) If we group psychedelic folk into generations, let's call Donovan Generation One and Wooden Wand Generation Two. It's surprising that it took so many years to have a bona fide psyche-folk renaissance, but there are a few daring mavericks that existed in the lean years. One of the best was—and is—In Gowan Ring, which relocated to Portland not too long ago. IGR brings early music, medieval instrumentation, and baroque arrangements into its stony, elegant folk. Modern sounding it is not, as it whirls and bubbles (as in six-inch glass bubbler with two carbs) through a pastiche of witchy story-scapes. Yet another reason why we're lucky to live in Portland. PD

OZMA, EVERYBODY ELSE, THE JEZEBEL SPIRIT, LINDSEY POOL

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Ozma's known as that Pasadena, California band who rode the "We sound just like Weezer!" wave through the early '00s. It's true, they do sound just like Weezer. Even the big W frontman himself enjoyed their version of his adolescent geek-pop sound; Ozma toured with Rivers Cuomo and Co. in 2001. Ozma also hopped on the bill with the Rentals when they reunited earlier this year. Now, though, with that bespectacled heart-on-our-sleeves sound not being the big trend, Ozma's forced to test the waters on their own. No waves to ride, no Weezer superstars (past or present) to hold their hands. It's fight or flight time, boys and girl. MEGAN SELING

PARENTHETICAL GIRLS, FLASPAR, PASH

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) It's a testament to the exponential growth of Portland's music scene that, until yesterday, I had yet to ever hear the Parenthetical Girls, despite heap-loads of positive write-ups and glowing personal recommendations. Former Mercury Music Editor Zac Pennington is the motivator behind this post-modern pop conglomerate and his vision is unique to say the least. Laid bare with themes such as gender and reproduction, the group's recent release Safe as Houses is awash with icy electronics, chiming glockenspiels and sexually ambiguous falsettos. Tonight, the Girls play a local send-off show before venturing on an eastbound tour, so go show them some love and hope that middle America does the same! JOSH BLANCHARD

THE SUN THE SEA, LAKE SOCIETY, EMPIRE EXPAND, HAZELWOOD MOTEL

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) At long last, Dandy Warhols side project the Sun the Sea has a MySpace page up and I am pleasantly surprised at their output. Unlike the Dandy's pompous bombast, TSTS is a relatively low-key, mellow, unassuming take on classic shoegazer pop. There's fuzz guitar, smart riffs, and plenty of druggy wash-out noise. (A thing the Dandies once excelled at.) While these are only demos, this hints well at what's to come. I, for one, am feeling pretty good about the future. PD

FRIDAY 11/3

NKONDI, FERVEUR NOIRE, ROTTED BRAIN, SHITTY VIBE SMASHER, THE SUNKEN, ROBOTIC DALY, BRUZED

(Reed Chapel, 3203 SE Woodstock) There's harsh and then there's harsh. Nkondi (AKA Erik Arteaga) is harsh #2, the harshness of death, of road rash, and extreme noise experimentation. His music flays and scrapes and rips scabs off and pours lemon juice and salt into their pus-ringed sores. This next sentence goes out to .0000121 percent of you: This is your new favorite band. ADAM GNADE

DEFTONES, DEADSY

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) The Deftones are the most intellectual band in heavy music that doesn't try to be. I slept over 2003's self-titled regression to '95 and its metallic Adrenaline revisit. I get that the former put more control and direction in the chainsaw sledge of Stephen Carpenter's seven-string. However, after White Pony and a subsequent loss of core fans from the lack of heaviness that was built upon from Adrenaline to the brilliantly anti-sophomoric Around the Fur, they needed to come back to where they started. Once again, I feel that high and lonesome dangerous midnight vibe with Saturday Night Wrist. That wicked sharp, wintry sound that anticipates frosted vapor from Chino's icy vocals to humidify out the speaker. KUFO has been consistent with playing "Hole in the Earth" around 9-11 pm. Like I was telling a buddy at work, it's purely night music. Invest in quality headphones, roll quality greenery, have a few pulls off the turkey bottle, and spend some quality time with White Pony. And then do it again. JJ DIXON

THE RETRIBUTION GOSPEL CHOIR, CORRINA REPP, MBILLY

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Sorry to be all predictable and trite and shit, but Mark Kozelek is kind of dope. I still listen to Sun Kil Moon's Ghosts of the Great Highway, and it still hasn't stopped getting better. Dude orchestrated a tribute album to John Denver for god's sake. Okay, enough, you know this. But did you know he'd teamed up with fuckin' Low's fuckin' Alan Sparhawk!? And that they have this amazing slowcore, psyche-guitar freakout band called the Retribution Gospel Choir? You did? Well, damn, it must be great to be you. It must also be great to be opener Mbilly, a singer/songwriter whose gifts for mournful lyrics and likewise melodies apparently know no bounds. Come late and I will personally kick your teeth in. JUSTIN W. SANDERS

COMMUNITY CYCLING CENTER BENEFIT W/ALAN SINGLEY & PANTS MACHINE, PLEASE STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE, BOY EATS DRUM MACHINE

(Acme, 1305 SE 8th) After what seems like several years of fumbling around, Alan Singley seems to be finally getting things together a little bit. His new record, Lovingkindness, has penetrated the snobby walls of Pitchfork, and emerged only slightly scathed. A sort of floppy, forced exuberance has always stemmed from him, but it's starting to feel like a stylistic choice as opposed to overcompensation. And he seems to be trying to mix it up a little bit too. I dig the album's somber, piano-fueled tracks, like "Watersong," even if I can't tell if they're sincere (it's hard when the class clown wants to be taken seriously). At the very least they're a sophisticated leap over more standard Singley fare like the shouting, stupidly rhyming "Highways of our Mindz" (Everybody: The z-plural is neither ironically humorous nor genuinely humorous.) 'Course, that stuff's fun to listen to live (I guess), which is a good thing at tonight's benefit for the Community Cycling Center, one of our favorite little nonprofits ever. Fun brings in the money. So go have fun, and don't listen to miserly old grumps like me. JWS

MOONSPELL, KATATONIA, DAYLIGHT DIES, AGALLOCH, ESTIGIA

(Gravity Room, 6 SW 3rd) The dark, grey winter is nearly upon us. Let us rejoice in the relentless windstorm known as Agalloch. They will bury you alive on a desolate mountaintop, leave you for dead, and then resurrect you with their bleak, Norwegian-infused black metal anthems. Hell yes! This show is going to be glorious! CHRISTINE S. BLYSTONE

BIZ MARKIE, REVELATIONS, SAUCE POLICY

(Smith Ballroom, PSU, 1825 SW Broadway) See Music, pg. 17.

BONNIE "PRINCE" BILLY, HUMAN BELL

(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) See Music, pg. 15.

SATURDAY 11/4

MOUSE ON MARS, BIRDY NAM NAM, LITHOPS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) When I catch myself griping about how much better electronic music was "back in the day," it becomes sadly clear that I'm well down the path to being an old curmudgeon. Still, there's no denying that the last few years have found the bubbling, plasmic electronics of groups like Mouse on Mars largely swept aside by the razor thin wave of electro clinicians. The German duo of Jan St. Werner and Andi Toma have been pumping out album upon album of fizzy, Neo-Kraut jams since 1993, but even more impressively, they've evolved into a ball-buster of a live band (thanks largely to the impeccable skin thumping of their newest member, Dodo Nkishi). As an added bonus, tonight's show also boasts St. Werner's equally fantastic solo outing, Lithops, so this is not one to miss! JB

XIU XIU, DIRTY PROJECTORS, CONGS FOR BRUMS, GROUPER W/ILYAS AHMED

(Disjecta, 230 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 15.

WET CONFETTI, SWAN ISLAND, TWIN, PLASMIC STALLION

(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) See Music, pg. 17.

BONNIE "PRINCE" BILLY, HUMAN BELL

(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) See Music, pg. 15.

SUNDAY 11/5

SAY ANYTHING, MEWITHOUTYOU, PIEBALD, FORGIVE DURDEN

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) My genius and weekend hobby lies in making wacky collages and posting them on Myspace. Laugh now, but this bagged me a few cyber admirers (over 14) including a super me-enthusiastic kid from Atlanta. Several emails later, I thought it fair to agree to meet when our bands played at SXSW (ya know, give him that super-fuzzy guest list feeling, and introduce him to real label bands). Turns out his little emo band show got cancelled, so I consoled him in my most encouraging tone and asked if I could help him getting a house show or something. The night blurred, and I think I ended up ditching him in lieu of getting lost by myself. I forgot what the hell he said his film-referenced band name was 'til I picked up a copy of Blender, and a full-page ad sponsored by Sony reminded me. Turns out Say Anything would get another chance to be heard that night—alongside Dashboard Confessional. JENNA ROADMAN

BONNIE "PRINCE" BILLY, HUMAN BELL

(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) See Music, pg. 15.

MONDAY 11/6

BOYSKOUT, ARCULARIUS, DJ VIBE COP

(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) San Francisco's Boyskout (all girls) stride the line between Moving Units-ish post-electroclash and mid '90s electro-pop (think: Elastica, Blur, etc). Their songs are catchy and smart and seem perfect for dance floor posturing. It's amazing that this band—with all their dyed black Suicide Girls 2002 hair, attitude, and DFA beats—is still existing and doing well in the '06. But they are, and I say more power to 'em. PD

DAT POLITICS, KEVIN BLECHDOM, DO N DUDES

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) France's DAT Politics will pleasantly surprise those of you who think laptop music is reserved for nerds and deep techno purists. Hailing from the Northern city of Lille, this quartet delivers chirping, high-energy euro-pop chock full of playful synth lines and squealing digitized vocals. It's more than a little obnoxious to be sure, but it's most definitely done on purpose. Local boys DnD will not be busting out 5th level healing spells on your ass, but will provide you with more than your daily dosage of sweaty, dance floor action! JB

TUESDAY 11/7

ISLANDS, SUBTITLE, BESNARD LAKES

(Disjecta, 230 E Burnside) Islands may have landed the most Zeitgeisty album of the year with their brilliant debut, Return to the Sea. The reborn Unicorns retain the poppy morbidity of their former band, but expand from self-referential to worldly, alluding to global topics such as conflict diamonds and climate change, and incorporating elements of calypso. Where the Unicorns' story started with birth and chronicled life in the shadow of death, Islands invert that narrative, beginning with the end and exploring the potential for rebirth in the catastrophic. As ever, singer Nick Diamonds tackles his subjects with sharp wit and layered lyrics, and his band keeps things light with warm, airy arrangements and easy showmanship. ERIC GRANDY

WEDNESDAY 11/8

GIL MANTERA'S PARTY DREAM, GRAND BUFFET

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) I challenge any so called "party band" to offer up half the cojones of Gil Mantera's awesome Party Dream. Two Ohioan brothers (Gil and Donny) with creepy moustaches, vocoders, and an '80s soft rock fetish might sound played out, but this "family act" is one of the most fucking hilarious things I've ever seen. The best performers are always the ones that don't have to adopt a bogus stage presence, and the Manteras are a couple of boozed up troublemakers both on and off stage. The first time I caught these guys live, Donny stripped down to bikini briefs and lit his pubes on fire while on a trampoline. If that doesn't get you fired up to go out tonight, then nothing will! JB