THE NEW YORK DOLLS Berbati's Pan, 11/10

THURSDAY 11/9

DJ KEZ, OHMEGA WATTS, REV SHINES

(Night Light Lounge, 2100 SE Clinton) Working the crowd tonight is the Northwest counterpunch to all things bling. Not one for those narcissistic club tracks, Ohemga Watts is a crate diggin' addition to the house built by Main Source, Tribe Called Quest, Gangstarr, De La Soul, and the like. The closets are overflowing with words and beats, and there's no room left for mink suits, dubs, or hooks to be hammered into the ground. No sir, not here. Watts is in the business of soulful samples and thoughtful rhymes. It's music for the love of music, and nothing is going to lift the gray skies from your heavy head quite like it. ANDREW R TONRY

WHIP, DOUGLAS SHEPHERD

(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) Traditional music, psychedelic folk, and Americana is filled with songs about god—about loving god, praising god, doubting the existence of god but still wanting like crazy to believe. No matter what topical nature these folks (Castanets, Devendra Banhart, Joanna Newsom, et al.) go with, it's generally on the side of believing in god. Refreshing, then, are Whip's atheistic folk songs. While god is still there, Whip comes from a secular standpoint, even when he's gentle in his criticism to believers. PETER DAVIS

THE PRIDS, 120 DAYS, ANOTHER CYNTHIA

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) 120 Days, made up of four teenage friends (Adne Meisfjord, Kjetil Ovesen, Arne Stöy Kvalvik, and Jonas Dahl) from the northern coastal town of Kristiansund, moved together to Oslo, Norway, in 2001. Here they began, like many bands, jamming and living almost atop one another. In turn, their music eventually balanced out a similar overlay of harmonic halftones and oscillating melodies. With vintage synths and motorik sequencers, plus the occasional squinty constellation of guitar notes, 120 Days' rhythms are passed from Krautrock to Italo-disco through New Order on their self-titled Vice Records debut. The quartet balance corrugated and perforated sonics—like a Salvador Dali painting as done by Roy Lichtenstein. TONY WARE

EASY ACTION, DARK SKIES

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Detroit's Easy Action is some skuzzy, scummy, filth-tastic garage rock! With crunchy sing-along choruses, caveman retardo/awesome guitar, and "we do what we want" lyrics, the band reminds me of all those trashy, cocksure hair bands of the '80s, only without all the gloss, polish, and radio-friendliness. There is, like, nothing friendly about this, gawdluvit. GRANT MORRIS

DAVIS HOOKER, STATIC FILMS, BIRCH BOOK, SEAN BROOKS

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) In Gowan Ring/Birch Book's B'eirth has been towing the psyche-folk line since the early '90s, making him one of Portland's only genuine links to a music community that, believe it or not, existed well before 2003. B'eirth walks the faerie talk, drinking red wine out of goblets, and forging beautifully hand-crafted stringed instruments that look like Spock's groovy Vulcan lyre from Star Trek. His softly sung troubadour songs are rich and delicate, steeped in both Americana and European traditions but delivered with a mystic aura all his own. Mr. Davis Hooker's musical persona is a more tangled affair, as he's garnered much recent infamy as the masochistic frontman for melting, local noise rock band ...worms. Davis' original calling however, is as a writer of sad, apocalyptic folk songs that'll beat the fear of God back into you. JOSH BLANCHARD

THE SLIP, THE LOVELY FEATHERS

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) The same week the Slip release their Eisenhower record, they make their way to our fair and soggy city. Coincidence? I think not. The Slip will be at Dante's trying to dispense a little audio euphoria... and move some fucking units. That's the business. While Eisenhower shares a name with our 34th President, the two don't have much in common. Ike was concerned with commies. The Slip's new record is concerned with blending spacey, avant-garde, khaki rock with psychedelic, white-boy roots. Ike explored the possibilities of Social Security and the interstate highway system. The Slip's new record explores unorthodox rhythms and the possibilities of part-time Canucks writing indie arena-rock–maintaining cred while delivering tracks pubescent girls will stick on their MySpace pages. Ike was Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces. The Slip's new disc is supreme commander of eclectic fluidity. Eisenhower is many things. Ike's just a dead president. MATT DRISCOLL

DEL THe FUNKY HOMOSAPIEN, MIKE REIM, PSALM ONE, BUKUE ONE, A-PLUS

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Maybe you know Del as Ice Cube's li'l cousin, or you heard him in Gorillaz, or through Deltron 3030. But you've listened to him, right? Have you ever heard Del the Funky Homosapien's 1991 debut album I Wish My Brother George Was Here? If so, you know of its audacious humor and Del's clever way with words. If not, there is a gaping hole in your existence. Any which way, I'd recommend getting your ass down to the Roseland tonight, because he's so charming, so funny, and so in town for your listening pleasure. COURTNEY FERGUSON

FRIDAY 11/10

D&K, BLITZEN TRAPPER, SEXTON BLAKE, ANDY WERTH

(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) Compared to what his musical peers are doing, young Andy Werth is making some pretty ballsy music. On his debut three-song EP, Back to the Sun, there's no jarring guitar, guttural growling, or mood-affecting atmospheric noise. Instead there are bright horns, bouncing piano, and an undeniable '70s-pop vibe that conjures Rubert Holmes(!) and Elton John. In fact, it's so far from what's considered "trendy," it's the antithesis of what you hear being played at [insert your neighborhood hipster bar here] on a Friday night. Which almost makes it more punk rock (in attitude, not execution) than anything this city's seen in a long time. MEGAN SELING

KOOL KEITH, PANTHER, COOLEY SPINS WAX

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The last time Kool Keith came through town, I was talking to his manager about doing an interview, and he basically forbade me from bringing up Keith's alter ego, Dr. Octagon. A few weeks later, the reason became apparent: Last June, Dr. Octagon's second album in nine years hit the street, to mild fanfare. As a deranged gynecologist, Dr. Octagon was Kool Keith's most popular character, and most fans presumed that there would never be another Doc Oc album (since Keith "murdered" him on another album). But there it was—a brand-new record. Sort of. Turns out Kool Keith didn't even know the new album was coming out. Through some crazy confusion, Kool Keith had "accidentally" signed to a CMH Records, a country label, which created a bogus imprint that existed only as a Barcelona PO box, and who decided to release some old Kool Keith outtakes and table scraps as the new Dr. Octagon CD. The Return of Dr. Octagon (which no one bought anyway) was a total unauthorized scam, but apparently Kool Keith isn't too upset, since he's resurrected the character, and will be rocking the crowd with Doc Oc greats like "Blue Flowers" and "3000." But who knows—maybe Kool Keith isn't even aware that this is what he signed up for. If you can accidentally sign to a country label, you can probably stumble into a lot of situations unknowingly. In any case, catch Dr. Octagon now, before he resumes his career track to becoming our generation's Blowfly. CHAS BOWIE

VETIVER, ERIC JOHNSON, HORSE FEATHERS

(Disjecta, 230 E Burnside) Virginia-born Vetiver founder/songwriter Andy Cabic knows how to bring people together. A respected member of the Bay Area's folk music community, Cabic brought together Joanna Newsom, Hope Sandoval (Mazzy Star), My Bloody Valentine drummer Colm O'Ciosoig, and Devendra Banhart to make Vetiver's self-titled debut the grand, stomping, rattle and shake collection of upbeat folk that it is. And the fact that Cabic is often name-checked for sharing an apartment—and often a stage—with Banhart, does not mean his songs sound anything like Banhart's: Where Banhart's songs are minimal, raw, muddy, and snail-paced, Cabic's are full, sunny, jingle jangle folk rock that's slightly reminiscent of Neutral Milk Hotel. Dense with bending, electrified riffs, acoustic finger picking and hazy vocals. Vetiver's charged, fun-loving sound needs no translating live—it brings people together naturally JENNY TATONE See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.

GIRL TALK, MACROMANTICS, DJ BEYONDA, DJ 1996 OLYMPICS

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music, pg. 21.

GWAR, THE RED CHORD, MUNICIPAL WASTE

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Sort of lame, sort of awesome, Gwar is like a rite of passage for white teenagers everywhere, and therefore succeeds in part on no small degree of nostalgia. But frankly, their music's decent metal, and the showmanship they dedicate to their legendary live shows is sorely lacking from most modern performances. I mean come on, the costumes, props, theatricality, and fucking Gwar juice they spew all over their audiences (it comes out in the wash, mom) make KISS look like they just rolled out of bed and threw on any old thing. (By the way, fuck KISS.) If you've somehow managed to miss the Gwar boat, checking out a show is always an experience—just an experience that reeks of teenage boys. Which, you know, there's a time and place for. MARJORIE SKINNER

THE NEW YORK DOLLS, SUPERSUCKERS, THE CHESTERFIELD KINGS, THE CHARMS

(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) Mick Jagger sang, "What a drag it is getting old." Dolls lead-man David Johansen was always compared to Mick—and not too unfairly. Still, the Dolls of the 1970s were a whole different animal and that animal had sharp teeth, skunk spray, and a carnivorous heart (whereas the Stones were all cock and balls and sense of humor.) That being said, there is a certain youthful poetry lost in the reunited band's comeback album, One Day it Will Please Us to Remember Even This. While their two (perfect) studio albums thrashed and swelled with the kind of attitude and sensibility that come with being young and living your life out in the world, the new one feels like the work of older men. Lost is the bareness of their earlier Chuck Berry style rock 'n' roll and in its place is too much shininess, clichéd blues structure, and lyrics that are downright embarrassing coming out of a middle-aged man's mouth. I guess what I'm saying is it isn't punk—which is what the Dolls were from the beginning. The record could've been much worse, though, and all accounts of the band's new live show are nothing short of fine. They'll still do the "hits" and David Jo's voice is still big and shouty. The fact that I'm going to be out of the country for this show hurts my stomach something awful. Go do this one for me. ADAM GNADE

THE HELIO SEQUENCE, THE SNUGGLE UPS, DYKERITZ

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) I've been lucky enough to catch Helio Sequence twice now. Once, drunk and looking to rock, I was unappreciative of their somewhat un-rocking sound. The second time, still drunk, the music clicked: the wailing harmonic, the impassioned vocals—something stuck. The previous show's bad taste washed away, and I was amazed with the sound the duo was able to produce. Even more important though, both shows have left me absolutely fascinated with the seemingly Tourettic facial expressions of drummer Benjamin Weikel. It matters not the tempo of any given beat, Weikel's mug runs the gamut from near painful-ecstasy to an open-mouth silent scream of anger. Every cymbal crash, every crack of the snare is an unveiling of a random assortment of astounding facial contortions. Paired with his near Gumby-inspired body flailings, Weikel is well worth the price of admission alone. NOAH SANDERS

SATURDAY 11/11

TAHITI 80, BROOKVILLE

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Tahiti 80's new album, Fosbury, finds this French combo putting a slightly dancier spin on their breezy, summery pop—all the better to show off bassist Pedro Resende's fab dance moves when they hit the stage. While listening to the band's upbeat melodies is guaranteed to take the edge off the gray chill of our Pacific Northwest fall, seeing them live might stave off Seasonal Affective Disorder for several months. This is a band whose shows bring a whole new level of exuberance to the material—and a gigantic smile to the face of anyone in the audience. BARBARA MITCHELL

LEE "SCRATCH" PERRY, DUB IS A WEAPON

(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) The term "legendary" gets thrown around a ton when describing Lee "Scratch" Perry, and not just because he helped pioneer dub, but because he's kinda crazy—like a more unhinged version of George Clinton. But it's the music that matters, right? So here's what he did for the development of reggae: Perry was one of the first producers to start dubbing out reggae and rocksteady tracks—dropping out vocals and instruments at will, and then adding a shit-ton of reverb and delay. For a brief moment, dub provided relief from reggae's oppressively formulaic nature, until the genre developed a formula of its own. Quite quickly, it became just as predictable as the sound it was meant to tweak. Fast forward 30-plus years, and musicians—including Perry—are still turning the same knobs in exactly the same ways, and it hasn't aged well. In the worst extreme, there are bands like Dub Is a Weapon, playing sanitized version of reggae that sounds more like ska, then adding reverb. Unfortunately, Dub Is a Weapon is also serving as Perry's backing band—hopefully, Perry's psychedelic wizard persona is enough to keep the show from falling into snoozy mediocrity. SCOTT MOORE

PAUL STANLEY, SLUNT

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Growing up in the '70s, you had to have a favorite member of KISS. Guys were allowed to dig Gene's blood-spitting monster, Ace's otherworldly spaciness, or Peter's, um, cat thing. But they couldn't like Paul. Girls liked Paul. The Lover. The Starchild. Paul Stanley was the embodiment of '70s arena rock in all its sultry, strutting, hairy-chested glory. More than just rocking the audience, he seduces them into devotion. He'll be performing at the Aladdin—playing KISS favorites, and songs from his two solo albums—and showing us all how a true frontman does it. I'm bringing extra panties. DAN PAULUS

SPLIT LIP RAYFIELD, HILLSTOMP, FISTFUL OF CASH

(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) Shows like this are historical events, so if you've ever had an appreciation for the punk rock bluegrass of Kansas' Split Lip Rayfield, then you really should buy your tickets in advance, as it will undoubtedly sell out. Guitarist Kirk Rundstrom is fighting a valiant but exhausting battle with esophageal cancer and consequently, this is the band's last tour. As positively tragic as this is, reports from the road suggest that Rundstrom's spirit is galvanizing the band's performances with a rather awe-inspiring jolt of electricity and creating an atmosphere that is much more celebration than requiem—a heartening turn that all but guarantees this will be an unforgettable evening. HL

HIGH ON FIRE, IN MEMORIUM, SCORCH EARTH

(Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) For such a devout hard-rock and metal fan, I'm pretty fucking stupid when it comes to utilizing ear protection. I was once at a Caustic Resin show and finally reached for my earplugs during the last song—and at that point, it was more of a feeble gesture than an effective preventative measure. Tonight would be a very good night for me to change my irresponsible ways, but I still might have a difficult time. Bay Area trio High on Fire play ferociously heavy doom rock that could shatter chandeliers in the right venue, but their attention to dynamics and melody is so subtly attractive that it's hard to imagine willingly sheltering my ears from any little nuance of their stoner-friendly sound. HANNAH LEVIN

NERDMETALCON VER. .9.22b w/BLÖÖDHAG, JONNYX AND THE GROADIES, ORDER OF THE GASH, ANON REMORA

(Reed College Ping Pong Room, 3203 SE Woodstock) Remember when after 500 some-odd weeks in a row of meat and potatoes your mom suddenly decided to get "creative" and whip up something "new"? Sure, all the ingredients were basically the same, but the result was startlingly unfamiliar and simultaneously triumphant and melancholy. Now, take that concept and apply it to metal. Result: Nerdmetalcon Ver. .9.22b. Each of the four bands playing the 'Con have their own decidedly tired-of-the-same-old-crap oeuvre. BlöödHag tear through sci-fi cutlets of author bios using thrash riffs played at short story speeds, JonnyX and the Groadies summon the forces of Big Black and the Darkness and push them together into a strangely compelling peanut butter and bacon sandwich, while Order of the Gash root through dungeons full of mutton metal leaving Anon Remora to provide nothing if not a jiggling black blood pudding for dessert. Sounds like one hell of a food fight to me. LANCE CHESS

POLLY PANIC, EM BROWNLOWE, PALLATON

(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) It's no wonder Jenette Mackie—whose alter ego is Polly Panic—was recently treated for laryngitis. Her vocal styling is not the sweet coo you might imagine traditionally accompanying sweeping cello moans. Instead, her raw baritone wail recalls the bold, grimy attitude that bequeathed riot grrrl, PJ Harvey, and Virginia Woolf. Abandoning the confines of classical training at New York's Crane School of Music, Mackie recently relocated to Portland to further explore pairing the classical cello with the darker, seedier side of rock and roll. So far, the results hold nothing back, bleeding real emotion, exhuming distorted imagery and revealing cello in a fashion you've likely not found it before—dark, manic, and at once full of life. JT

BOYS II MEN, LILLA D'MONE

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Boys II Men is the weakest shit ever. From their stupid matching jackets and Girbaud jeans to their flaccid new jack swing cornball attempts at songwriting, during my high school years Boys II Men was like that turd that would never go down the toilet, no matter how many times I flushed. Now, 15 years later, they're back (sort of—Michael McCary left the group because of his scoliosis, which will probably heal itself if it never has to hear "Mowtownphilly" again), and they've followed me to Portland, and once again, I'm trying to flush that damn toilet, but there's that turd, still bobbing in the water, mocking me, singing Cooleyhighharmony. CB

SUNDAY 11/12

RABBITS, UNDERMOUNTAINS, DJ NATE C

(Ground Kontrol, 511 NW Couch) So I'm fudgin' around the ol' casa last night when I find my copy of Rabbits' and Mountains' self-titled split has been bent into a warped mess between my couch and record stack. True! Always the optimist, though, I was like, "Sweet, dude! That'll make sure I go see the bands play together at Ground Kontrol." This show is the live, aaaall up in yer grill, loud as thunder version of their split 12-inch. Experimental metal por vida, yo! GM

BEACH HOUSE, OVER THE ATLANTIC, 57 OCTAVES BELOW, THEE CATERPILLAR

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Ah, melting, gluey sunlight. Beach House's self-titled Car Park release feels like sunshine seen through honey jars, empty grass fields (inner Southern California, off the 15), and sleeping late with somebody you like a lot. It has a classic '60s pop feel, referencing all those bands you'd imagine "'60s pop feel" would give name to. The album comes with a great warmth, organ and guitar and basic drums all stirring together in a nice, lazy, gelatinous blob. If I made mix CDs (and I don't) right now the label to my in-progress Summer in Dana Point would read: Donovan, "Being for the Benefit of Mr. Kite!," Brightbright Morning Light, "You're so Vain," Peter and the Wolf, "Seasons in the Sun," Jackie-O Motherfucker, Beach House. AG

LADY SOVEREIGN, YOUNG LOVE

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg. 21.

MONDAY 11/13

...WORMS, ETERNAL TAPESTRY, ME CON

(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) In celebration of one of the heaviest hitting lineups I've seen in Tube history, it's news time. According to ...worms' drummer Sam Humans, "We've not played since September, and I would not expect us to be back in full-on four piece show form until early next year, though we might be playing more abstract and/or three-piece shows around town as ...werms (pronounced ...verms). In other news, myself and Jevon (of Chevron) have opened up a studio. We reside in the Pearl District on the top floor of a two-story warehouse and between us have scads of great gear, including a great, old '70s Soundcraft 24 channel board, and the choice of eight-track analog or 24-track digital. Recent projects include Not Yeti, Eternal Tapestry, Me Con, and Gulls. The space is huge, and the sound is even better." As says a recent dispatch from Eternal Tapestry HQ, "We've been recording music for a couple upcoming releases with ...worms drummer Sam Humans, so we got some new sounds to unleash for this show. More blissful passages of minor key otherworldliness. This will be our last show for the year since our drummer Nick Bindeman will be on tour in Europe with Jackie-O." No news, as of now, from Me Con so I'll make something up: Me Con was recently awarded the prize for One of My Favorite Local Bands that Will Do Huge Fucking Things in 2007 by the Adam Gnade Love and Fast Typing Association/Foundation of SE Portland, Oregon. AG

TUESDAY 11/14

A WEATHER, WILLIAM HOLLEY

(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) How the crap have I not heard A Weather yet?! Wow! Seriously, dude! And how are they not on every film soundtrack, M&Ms commercial, and iTunes download single of the week? Because, man have they got some solid, smart, beautiful-istical Iron and Wine-ish folk jams. The tangle of harmonies, the buzzing acoustic guitars... it's A-1, top-notch, all killer/no filler GOODNESS. Go see this show or you'll have to sit in the mush pot until recess! GM

ZOE KEATING, THE GOLDEN ARM TRIO, PRIVACY

(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) Zoe Keating is one of the cello playin' ladies of Rasputina whose recent concept record, Rasputina Turner, takes old Tina Turner songs and gives them the gothy Raspu' work over. Just kidding. I actually have no idea what Rasputina is up to but I know good and well that Keating's solo cello excursions are a real pleasure. Half classical music, part experimental ambient, Keating should not be missed. Mark it down. Right now. Y'know that calendar spot that reads "Monday, Nov 13"? That's the one. Fill it in posthaste and take no more appointments. PD See also My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.

WEDNESDAY 11/15

THE RAPTURE, THE PRESETS

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Rapture was once a versatile dance band you could jam out to with just your feet. Not until the latest release, Pieces of the People We Love, have I ever grasped the internecine nature of dance floor lyrical culture (you know, "Move your body like this" and "I'm gonna let it loose tonight" etc.). I had been taking them for granted all along: Their lyrical thoughtfulness and intuitive cross-referencing of valued disco treatments from the past 20 years, all wrapped into a delivery just gritty enough to earn a spot in the DFA family. The current release—comprised of 10 apparent attempts to woo an iPod commercial—is jam-packed with bumhead rhymes, ditzy girls screaming in the background, and crystal clear production. This falls painfully opaque in light of their 2003 genius, Echoes. JENNA ROADMAN

JACK ROSE, PETER WALKER, ILYAS AHMED

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) If you believe all the long lost '60s folk gurus have finally been unearthed, it's time to think again. Instrumental spell caster Peter Walker, in addition to being the musical director for Timothy Leary's "happenings," also released two sterling albums of Eastern infused guitar mantras on the Vanguard Records label. His first release in 37 years, A Raga for Peter Walker, is an intriguing middle ground between tribute and compilation, as four original compositions by Walker are joined with reverential reworkings of his pieces by the likes of Thurston Moore and Steffen Basho-Junghans. Together with the organic tapestries of Jack Rose (of Pelt fame) and recent Portland transplant Ilyas Ahmed, tonight will be a captivating acoustic guitar summit between the old generation and the new. JB

SUBLIME FREQUENCIES

(Clinton Street Theater, 2522 Clinton Street) See Film Shorts, pg. 52.

ALDEBARAN, RYE WOLVES, D'GUL

(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) I'm not sure if we should thank our lucky stars that Portland has so much quality doom metal or campaign to rid the city of its dolorous and gray-toned sounds. Because while it's good music, it's also like seeing a dark and depressing movie when your serotonin is a wee bit too low. Meaning: This stuff is morose, heavy, and soul crushing, and if you're not doin' too well, it could very well lead you to the lands of Elliot Smith, Sylvia Plath, and Kurt Cobain. But be strong. Go see Aldebaran and stare into the abyss. If it starts to stare back at you, flip it the bird. PD

ADRIAN BELEW, CALIFORNIA GUITAR TRIO

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See Music, pg. 23

HOT CHIP, BORN RUFFIANS, SHY CHILD

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) One would think I'm happy not to be bombarded by my favorite band on Clear Channel's radio waves. I'm not. In the states, Hot Chip has fallen into this annoyingly specific hipster niche, despite their major label status and walloping success in Europe. Perhaps their sometimes grisly/sometimes sentimental—but always tactful—lyrics and predilection toward Kraftwerk aesthetic have kept them from the grasp of suburban kids. Behind the neon glasses, Hot Chip is a transcendent pop band, in its purest and truest form, never crutched on sequencing or variation from expected progression of beautiful melodies and structure. JR

THURSDAY 11/16

BITCH, THE MAYBE HAPPENING

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) The Maybe Happening has a stupid band name, but goddamn are they some hella spicy indiepop! It's spirited, exciting, stompin' stuff that brings all sorts of messy (messy-good, though) basement orchestration into its mix of real-deal guitar riffs (squealy!), and Decemberists-ish vocals. Love that violin sawin' too. Check these dudes out! GM