THESE ARMS ARE SNAKES, SUBARACHNOID SPACE, JAGUAR LOVE
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
NIGHT OF 1,000 MADONNAS: OLD LADY BRIGADE, SEXTON BLAKE, THE ONLINE ROMANCE, GAY DECEIVERS, THE WORLD COURT, CJ & THE DOLLS, DO N DUDES
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
THE WEAKERTHANS, THE LAST TOWN CHORUS, JEREMY FISHER
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See Music, pg. 35.
PAN TOURISMOS, THE DOUBLE U,
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) See Our Town Could Be Your Life, pg. 45.
NANCY KING, KARRIN ALLYSON QUARTET
(Old Church, 1422 SW 11th) Karrin Allyson, one of the more popular jazz singers of the past decade, invited Oregon native Nancy King to contribute to her last album, Footprints, to great effect. Especially magical was the interplay of the two stylists on the Nat Adderley composition "Never Say Yes"—something of a sly wink, with Allyson's sweet, plaintive tone folding into King's blithe vocals. The elder King has long been a favorite of the cognoscenti but never captured as broad an audience as the workhorse Allyson, an obscurity that has begun to lift thanks to a Grammy-nominated live album with the pianist Fred Hersch. King and Allyson share an instrumentalist's knack and a raconteur's ability to engross, which they will impart in a pre-performance workshop. JALYLAH BURRELL
HOLLY GOLIGHTLY & THE BROKEOFFS,
SEA WOLF, TOM HEINL
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Despite extensive work with the White Stripes and Greenhornes, multiple albums and tours with Billy Childish, a prolific career (14 albums!), and an unmatchable voice—sometimes a bluesy rock 'n' roll drawler, other times a cool, distant chanteuse—Holly Golightly remains unknown to most. What kind of shit is that? Beginning in 1991 with all-girl group Thee Heatcoatees—an all-female answer to Billy Childish's Thee Headcoats—Golightly was making throwback garage rock before Jack White graduated high school. As she branched further and further out on her own, the undertones of blues, soul, and country become overtones, and eventually became her stylistic focus. Her latest record, You Can't Buy a Gun When You're Crying, brings more twang, more devils and dust, and more country harmony than Emmylou Harris has eked out in a decade. Pure and simple, it's what country music oughta be. HANNAH CARLEN
BOMB THE MUSIC INDUSTRY!, DRUNKEN BOAT, THE RAILERS, THE TAXPAYERS
(Grapedrink, 4949 SW Landing) Radiohead's latest move is undeniably groundbreaking—self-releasing their new album and selling it in advance at a sliding scale rate—but there are others out there who eschew the traditional, and dated, band/label relationship. Not surprisingly, Bomb the Music Industry! don't have much respect for the recording industry; instead, their albums (some self-released, others on Asian Man Records) are available for download at the punk-friendly price of "free," and the band is run as a collective. While their roots lie in ska-punk (wait, don't turn the page), BTMI! share the rambunctious chaos of bands like Slapstick, instead of the insipid embarrassment of the Cherry Poppin' Daddies. Thank god for that. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
THE NEW BLOODS, ALWAYS, WE QUIT, MAGIC JOHNSON
(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Taking a cue from such post-punk legends as Kleenex, the Au Pairs, and the Delta 5, Portland's New Bloods are proving to be a vital addition to that seminal family. This trio of guitar, bass, and violin has managed to stay pretty true to the aesthetic of said pioneers, sounding remarkably refreshing in the pool of dance-punk bands that claim to—yet clearly don't—have the same influences. With a dash of third-wave feminism and a pinch of riot grrrl, all of a sudden the New Bloods, along with likeminded acts Finally Punk and Mika Miko, are in the midst of what easily could be the next big scene for women in punk: one that borrows from the past, but intelligently allows itself to stay culturally relevant in the present. ROB SIMONSEN
NATIONAL STATIC, SLEEPING IN THE AVIARY, CRUSAS, HEARTBREAK CLUB
(Red Room, 2530 NE 82nd) If you're a pop band from Wisconsin, how could you not sound like the Violent Femmes? Gordan Gano and pals are deities in the Dairy State, and Madison's Sleeping in the Aviary pay their respects all over Oh, This Old Thing? Like the Femmes before them, their pop music is quirky and lopsided, clever and humorous, but never too wacky or overtly funny. If their foundation lies with their forefathers, their tempo and high-pitched vocals pay some tribute to our very own Hutch Harris (of the Thermals) in both style and efficiency (13 songs in 23 minutes). Also, it's definitely worth mentioning that on the band's site, amid categories like "bio" and "lyrics," there's a section called "horny teens." Unafraid of Dateline NBC's Chris Hansen busting me for clicking through, I boldly perused the section and was rewarded with a series of hastily scribbled pen drawings of teens awkwardly making out. My favorite was "Nick and Mandy," who are about to get it on under the watchful eye of a sinister looking Paul Simon poster. Gross. EAC
MT. EERIE, THE MOOOLS, GHOST TO FALCO
(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) Ten years and a name change later, Phil Elvrum is still going strong. The man behind the now defunct Microphones, and the still happening Mount Eerie, continues to be one of the Northwest's most reliable mainstays, and for good reason. His brand of psyche-pop is dense and often indulgent, but his soft, frail voice and amazing song structures always trump the tags of pretentiousness that haunt him. His live shows have been credited as being prophetic, cult-like religious experiences. But one thing's for sure, he really knows how to work his audience, and if you're up for it, this could easily be much more than just another night of great music. RS
CHRIS CORNELL, EARL GREYHOUND
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Now that Audioslave is dead and gone, let me dial up Miss Cleo and get the scoop on the next Chris Cornell supergroup. Chris, first off, you need a well-known yet unlikeable guitarist to match the ego of Tom Morello, preferably a guy with nipple rings and a flavor saver. Dave Navarro, you have a new gig—now you can stop waiting by the phone for the producers of Rock Star to call you back. Now, you need a bassist, preferably annoying—Flea, you're hired. No need to put a shirt on, bro. And you'll need to search the world over for the biggest colossal douche of a drummer. Or you can just get Lars Ulrich. Now that this horrible alt-rock Voltron has taken form, it needs a name. Sound Indentured Servant? Super Rock Band? Temple of the Dog 2007? EAC
REDMAN, KIDZ IN THE HALL, AKIR
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
JOSÉ GONZÁLEZ, TINY VIPERS
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Two years ago, José González's debut Veneer hit these shores, first on Hidden Agenda and later reissued by Mute. Originally released in González's native Sweden, it brought his music to wider notice, and a host of guest appearances (most recently on Savath & Savalas's Golden Pollen) followed. González's songs are sparse—often just acoustic guitar and voice—but moving, as he manages to sound pained and effortless at the same time. The just-released In Our Nature follows in the same vein, subtly incorporating a wider array of instrumentation, expanding his palette ever so slightly. But given his preferred method of playing, González can pull unexpected emotion from even the starkest of arrangements. Live, that intensity is even more evident, as is his talent for left-field covers; his versions of the Knife's "Heartbeats" and Massive Attack's "Teardrop" have turned up on his albums, and his band Junip has recorded a sprawling take on Bruce Springsteen's "The Ghost of Tom Joad." TOBIAS CARROLL
RED FANG, BURIED BLOOD, ATTITUDE PROBLEM, LEE COUNTS
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) When former members of Face Down in Shit and Necronomitron get obsessed with Godheadsilo and then form a sludge band employing distorted bass and two drummers, then you've got a problem. An Attitude Problem. One that's both retarded and heavy, which would explain what lured local heavyweight knuckle-draggers like Red Fang and Buried Blood to share this bill by their side. Red Fang are a bunch of smart guys that play dumb really well and smash anthem-heavy grunge tunes on their foreheads like empty tallboys. Buried Blood's coed classic metal attack slays like old Metallica, and grooves like even older Sabbath. This is a lot of heavy music in one place, and not the kind that demands much more of you than a stoned mind and a banging head. NATHAN CARSON
LOCH LOMOND, NICK JAINA (7 PM); LOCH LOMOND, STRANGERS DIE EVERY DAY (10 PM)
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33; Once More with Feeling, pg. 46.
SANDPEOPLE, GROUCH, QWEL, GRAY MATTERS, STATE OF MIND
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See Music, pg. 35.
OH DARLING, 20 MINUTE LOOP, ELFSHU
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) It's been a couple of years since San Francisco's 20 Minute Loop delivered the splendid Yawn + House = Explosion. The CliffNotes summary of the Loop is that they sound like the Pixies, but not in the same derivative way that so many bands have aped Black and Deal over the years. Instead, they share the melodies and quiet/loud aesthetic of the Pixies, but cram each song with a wild inventive flair that allows their material to stand on its own. Speaking of Black, the band is playing the previous night with him in Eugene, but no word if he'll pop out from behind the pinball machine and join the band onstage tonight. EAC
DATAROCK, FOREIGN BORN, DAT'R
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The one-two Norwegian punch of Datarock often gets compared to Devo for being a goofy and faux-futuristic new-wave act. While it's mostly true, they are still a little too hip (you just can't fake uncool), and miss out on the harmless nerdisms of Devo. Instead I'd say they fall into the camp of another well-emulated group, the Talking Heads. Even their sugary single "Fafafa" (you might spot it in Coke commercials) borrows a phrase from a certain David Byrne-sung hit, "Psycho Killer." But again, it lacks the jittery soul of Byrne & Co., coming off as a cool-kid cover version. Seems that Datarock just too cool. EAC
BRONZE FAWN, RENEGADE, DAVID KYLE & THE INVISIBLES
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Take this as a warning: Don't be seduced by the gentle, airy shoegaze of Bronze Fawn. Yes, it is true, the beautifully constructed melodies, delicately pieced together by effects pedals, are somewhat like lightly dozing within a thick fog of aural intoxication. And that's when they strike, when your eyelids are closed and you're stifling a yawn. That is when Bronze Fawn unveil their true weapon—the unhampered ability to rock. Gone is the shoegaze, gone is the melodic fog, replaced by a wall of sonic noise, two ton drums, and distortion heavy guitars. Sure as anything you'll be awake now, hair blown back, ears popped, wondering just what you've got yourself in to. Bronze Fawn, they'll surprise you—just don't say I didn't warn you. NOAH SANDERS
M. WARD, JASON LYTLE
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
KICKBALL, DIRTY MITTENS, STAR FUCKER
(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) Kickball are like an old friend you don't see enough. Once you finally do catch up, you say to yourself, "Damn, we've got to do this more often." And you should, because the three of them just nail it. They're a spring of good vibes that put on consistently tight, danceable, and cathartic shows. And they do it in a humble, accessible, and almost effortless way. There's a connection Kickball makes with the audience that most bands only dream of. It's like you really know them and they really care how you feel. Part of that's because they came up in the touchy-feely Olympia scene, but unlike many of their hushed, wispy, and sloppy cohorts, Kickball shows aren't a sit-on-your-hands affair—they're all about getting loose, honest, and free. Best of all, just like hanging out with a couple of good friends, seeing them tonight won't cost you a dime. ANDREW R. TONRY
FEDERALE, GO FEVER, THE DILETTANTES
(Kelly's Olympian, 426 SW Washington) Remember the one guy in DiG! that wasn't a complete and total asshole? No, not Courtney Taylor (x2), and certainly not Anton Newcombe. I'm talking about Joel Gion, the bug-eyed sunglasses wearing, wisecracking voice of reason among the syringe-filled carnage that was the early days of the Brian Jonestown Massacre. Since the film, Gion has quit and re-joined BJM, and also launched the Dilettantes (a name they confusingly share with a project from former Letters to Cleo singer Kay Hanley and a mustached West Virginia folk duo). The San Francisco quintet are centered around the peppy vocals (and tambourine) of Gion, so much so that they titled their debut release 101 Tambourines, after his instrument of choice. Plus, when you head to Kelly's tonight to see the man in the flesh, you can rest assured that unlike his other band, no one will be getting kicked in the face. EAC
MATTRESS, THEMASTERPLAN, DRAGGING AN OX THROUGH WATER, ELK TEETH, THE VIKING FUNERAL
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) I've said it before: There isn't much uncharted territory left in music anymore, but the most exciting new ground is broken when artists mix the organic and the electronic, setting cold, hard binary over strings and flutes, or a gorgeous, ambient ocean underneath noised-out guitar shredding. That said, there's a fine line between making something truly exciting, and making empty, post-ironic posturing. Tonight's lineup (thankfully) veers mostly toward the former category. Dragging an Ox Through Water, in particular, epitomizes the best of the genre, making music that is gorgeous, challenging, arresting, and just plain new. theMasterPlan follow close behind, making up in beauty what they lack in experimentation. Elk Teeth deliver a more straightforward sound, and Mattress toes right up to the dreaded danger zone, but all told, this is more than worth your six bucks at the door. HC
NEW SEASONS HOMEGROWN FEST
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Further establishing itself as one of Portland's kindliest employers, New Seasons has booked the Wonder Ballroom for an entire day devoted to the music, crafts, and dance works of its own staff. It certainly won't be the year's most thematically consistent show, but then, when else will you be able to catch—in a span of 12 hours—the Afro-Cuban dance stylings of Axe Dide (featuring Jenny Rettig from the Arbor Lodge store), the spine-tingling Gothic rock of Mortal Clay (featuring Kidby from the Concordia store), and the conscious hiphop of the Salmon River Project (featuring Adrian Thomas-Eikmann from store support), all on the same stage? JUSTIN W. SANDERS
REPTET, BETTER HOMES AND GARDENS
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Reptet are masters at slight of hand. They are musical magicians able to turn a dull, overwrought penny into a shiny, gleaming half dollar without blinking an eye. Upon initial contact, the six-piece jazz band exudes an overpowering air of staleness, a none-too-delicate whiff of the overly familiar that may push the casual listener aside. This is Reptet's flourish, a blatant movement that draws the audience's ear just long enough, giving them enough time to flip each song into a new sub-genre within itself. In an almost panicked state, Reptet jaggedly interweave each instrument, hurriedly crossing melodies and noise, creating a distinct take on jazz that is oft times hard on the ears, but always, always different. As each composition comes to a close with a smile and a bow, you can almost hear, "Voila, a fucking half dollar." NS
SHE WANTS REVENGE, KENNA, IO ECHO
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Justin Warfield: Put down the guyliner and ditch the guitar. I understand the need for artistic evolution, but damn, man—you were such a badass emcee back in '92, and this electro-goth-lite is really beneath you. My Field Trip to Planet 9 is a stone classic—a stoned classic, really—the first truly tripped-out, psychedelic hiphop album, way ahead of its time. Dense, head-spinning production by Prince Paul, reverbed rhymes about LSD, Korova Milk Bar, and Naked Lunch. You predated Edan by a decade! That shit made my senior year of high school! The only thing She Wants Revenge is making is a fair-to-middling Depeche Mode knockoff. Dude, you're Jarobi's cousin! Hiphop is in your blood! Come back, Justin! JONATHAN ZWICKEL
NICK LOWE, BILL KIRCHEN
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
METRIC, CRYSTAL CASTLES
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
NINA NASTASIA & JIM WHITE, PSEUDOSIX, LEY LINES
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) As if life weren't hard enough, the indie music circuit currently has two Jim Whites on active duty: There's the Pensacola-bred Southern folk weirdo who signed to David Byrne's Luaka Bop label in the mid-'90s, and there's Jim White the drummer, who will be in Portland tonight with New York songstress Nina Nastasia. This Jim White made his name as one third of Australia's sturm und drang instrumentalists Dirty Three, and has also provided rattling percussive thunder for plenty of your favorite artists, like Cat Power, Bonnie "Prince" Billy, and Smog. But on his latest collaboration, with the Steve Albini-approved Nastasia, White receives equal billing on the marquee. Their new album, You Follow Me, is a forceful gale of contemporary songwriting. Nastasia's voice swells from tender to enveloping when you expect it least: On the otherwise downtempo "The Day I Would Bury You," she sings, "I wanted to tell you again and again, how much I still blame you, how hard this has been," and behind her increasingly urgent vocals, White's building drums sounds like an internalized panic attack barely suppressing itself. Throughout the CD, White's drumming is an active ingredient, rather than a metronomic timekeeper with a few showy fills thrown in for good measure. You Follow Me is one of the most emotionally draining and haunting CDs I've heard all year, and it comes together more fully than any of Nastasia's previous releases, thanks in no small part to the cataclysmic contributions of one Jim White. CHAS BOWIE
VULTURES, OCEAN, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) When San Diego's brilliant and oft misunderstood the Plot to Blow Up the Eiffel Tower called it quits last year, they split into two separate wings. The Prayers assumed the role of working class, leather jacket (collars up!) punks, circa '77, while Vultures (led by the enigmatic Charles Rowland) are the bratty younger brothers, a less respectful knee-jerk reaction to all things complacent and safe. Their sound is set to Rowland's sneered vocals, some punishing drums, and the wild buzzsaw swirl of the guitars. It's punk music as a wet and bloody newborn, a screaming being that is fresh to the world, and whose direction can take any path. That said, Vultures are truly a beautiful sight to behold. EAC
THE MEKONS, THE SADIES
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
THE SADIES, POWER OF COUNTY, DRUNKEN PRAYER
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Used to be, the Sadies were frontrunners in the barely lucrative world of country genre amalgamation. But as the Toronto band near the decade mark, their roots/rockabilly/blues/boogie/whatever has been copped by too many kids who think the term "alt-country" actually means something. Perhaps that's why brothers Dallas and Travis Good accept the role as genre statesmen on their latest studio album, New Seasons, on which they rein in their trademark yip 'n' howl romps to focus on their songwriting craft. The subdued, tempered result sounds like a Jayhawks record for the most part, but the band's vigor is still plenty apparent on psych-country numbers like "A Simple Aspiration," which means the band's reputation for hootin', hollerin', guitars-blazin' concerts should still be intact. SAM MACHKOVECH
SCOUT NIBLETT, ADRIAN ORANGE & HER BAND, THE NEW BLOODS
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
BILL CALLAHAN, SIR RICHARD BISHOP
(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) See Music, pg. 37.
LEVINHURST, ROLLERBALL, LA FEMME ROUGE
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Okay, let's get this out of the way—Levinhurst is a band led by Lol Tolhurst from THE CURE. He was a founding member, and met Robert Smith at the age of five. Apparently when he's not busy being one of the absolute superstars of goth royalty, he makes somber electronic music with partner Cyndy Levinson. Their newest recording is darker and less electro than their earlier works, which is a good thing, since they're performing with some rather organic locals. Rollerball are four of the best musicians in town—absolutely cult-like in their quality control and invulnerability to trends. Easier to categorize are recent transplants La Femme Rouge. They adhere to the aesthetics of swampy death rock, but play it with a feather-touch. The music is melodic, tasteful, and swimming in reverb, as Natalie Howard's voice is what anchors them in the twilight zone. NC
KADDISFLY, STRATA, THE LAST OPERA,
KILL YOUR EX
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) Oh, At the Drive-In. Your afros, your onstage acrobatics, and that bubblegum prog sound. If we only knew that your influence would still radiate as proudly today as it did when you called it quits way back in 2001. The local kids in Kaddisfly continue where the famed El Paso group left off, delivering quick one-armed scissor jabs of jagged post-punk and moaned vocals, all packaged nicely with some technical panache. Their latest, Set Sail the Prairie (for respected SoCal label Hopeless/Sub City), suffers from more than a few songwriting clichés ("How big is a rainbow?/How big is a smile?/And can you tell me which weighs more?")—but written words aside, it's a solid listen overall. Blame the Warped Tour (which the band is fresh off of) or a generation keen on corporate assistance, but the band's site mentions that they are sponsored by something called Kronik Energy Drink, with its frightening slogan of "unrelenting energy supplement." I swear to Christ, that if I need to stay up that badly, I will do a line of dirty cocaine or jab a used syringe of meth into my neck before I drink anything called Kronik Energy Drink. Oh damn, there goes my sponsorship. EAC
(Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, 1037 SW Broadway) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33.
OHMEGA WATTS, BARRY HAMPTON & THE TRIPLE GRIP
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 33; Music, pg. 37.