Up & Coming 

THURSDAY 2/15

PHASE ONE: WORDS + MUSIC ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY W/BIRD COSTUMES, SALINA NUÑEZ, ORA COGAN, CAT TYC, ALELA DIANE, TOM BLOOD, MATTRESS, MATT BRIGGS, TARA JANE ONEIL

(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Damn, what we have here is a real powerhouse of a lineup. Tonight local svengali (and Mercury contributor) Garrett Strickland celebrates the one year anniversary of his monthly series, Phase One: Words and Music. Poetry and literary readings can be a hard sell for many folks, but like the spoonful of sugar that makes the medicine go down, Strickland's series tempers spoken word performances with great musical distractions. In the case of local poet and Marriage Records conspirator Tom Blood, no window dressing is necessary—his shrewd delivery is captivating and often hilarious. Don't come out for Mr. Blood alone, though, as this all-embracing art pageant is packed to the gills with folkies, writers and oddballs. JOSH BLANCHARD See also Music, pg. 19

THE SUN THE SEA, HERMAN JOLLY, THE PURRS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The Sun The Sea are a band you could set a clock to. A dependable, if not always unique trio that runs the limited gamut of indierock 'n' roll. Truthfully, everyone knows P-Town has a bushel of musicians producing music that will challenge your ideas about the musical landscape far more than the Sun The Sea. Though the band is the brainchild of Peter Holmstrom from the Dandy Warhols, they never achieve that level of '90s innovation. Instead, the Sun The Sea brings consistency to the table, playing poignant, earnest guitar rock that doesn't set the standard but certainly exemplifies it. If anything, the local trio churns out enjoyable melodies that stick to your gray matter, lightly tapping you on the dome piece, reminding you just why you liked this indierock crap in the first place. NOAH SANDERS

THE KINGDOM (ACOUSTIC), POINT JUNCTURE, WA (ACOUSTIC), THE WATERY GRAVES, PRIVACY

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) On their 2006 release, K1, the Kingdom writes sudden fiction mini-epics full of horns and violin and more swells than a pre-storm ocean. Listen to their song "Racer," and you can feel it building—there's going to be a drum crash there, right? Wait, what? There isn't? Huh. The Kingdom reminds me of classic Guided By Voices in that way, because I'm sometimes left wondering where the rest of the song went. That's part of what makes K1 interesting, though, and unlike GBV, the Kingdom won't give you the record crate and ask you to find the treasures—instead they hand-pick 11 tracks, cram them into 25 minutes, and deliver a gem. Singer Chuck Westmoreland's vocals sometimes remind me of that guy who sang "Ants Marching"—I wonder whatever happened to him?—but don't hate him for it. The Kingdom and Point Juncture, WA both play acoustic sets for this show, and I'm interested to see stripped down versions of songs from two typically larger-than-life Portland mainstays. JIM WITHINGTON

NORTHWEST PASSAGE: THE BIRTH OF PORTLAND'S DIY CULTURE

(Cinema 21, 616 NW 21st) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15

TOM HEINL, CARL WEATHERS FOR GOVERNOR, SCOTT MCMAUGHEY

(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) I wrote about Tom Heinl a while back. Since then I've seen his half-comedy, half-musical act a number of times, and I still enjoy it as much as I ever did. You see, Tom mixes it up—sometimes with more songs, sometimes with more jokes. Sometimes he does characters, while others he'll bring a set (complete with rocking chair, '60s kitsch lamp, and a portrait of an old Kentucky gentleman). He might decide to sing along with tapes on his old karaoke machine or set his keyboard up on the rocking chair and rock the fuck out to charging tunes like "Pinto Squire." Sometimes he'll just settle in and read from his fifth grade journal. However it shapes up, when Tom performs it's just plain fun—a nice half-day vacation from all that self-important, fancy-pants hipster garbage. ANDREW R. TONRY

SUPERNOVA, THE PUNK GROUP, DODGE DART, HELLO LOBSTER

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) STOP! In order to subvert any further confusion, this is the GOOD Supernova—not the ridiculously awful one starring Tommy Lee, two other washed-up rockers, and a guy who looks like a skunk. This is the original Supernova who successfully sued that so-called "superband" for the right to retain their own name, and composes witty surf-punk songs such as "Chewbacca" (used in the indie classic film Clerks) and "Calling Hong Kong." Reminiscent of good-time fun bands such as the Dead Milkmen and Butthole Surfers, Supernova also has a few other crucial differences between themselves and the idiots who tried to steal their name: Supernova is originally from the planet Cynot 3, which could explain why hard-moshing audience members enjoy throwing tinfoil at them. For more information on the real Supernova, see "Once More with Feeling" on page 35. For more information on the fakey, annoying Rock Star Supernova, see February 16 in this week's Up & Coming. WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY

FRIDAY 2/16

ROCK STAR SUPERNOVA, THE PANIC CHANNEL, TOBY RAND, DILANA

(Memorial Coliseum, 300 N Winning Way) As mentioned previously in the write-up for Supernova (see U&C, Feb 15), there are crucial differences between Rock Star Supernova and the real Supernova: While the real Supernova are from another planet and play fun songs that people actually enjoy, Rock Star Supernova are composed of a bunch of wash-ups who weren't even the driving forces in their own bands. Plus their lead singer (who closely resembles a skunk) was obtained via a super-crappy reality show on CBS—apparently Poison lead singer Bret Michaels was too busy? It also doesn't help that the music Rock Star Supernova finally came up with is indicative of their lack of creative ability—canned, bargain basement metal that is best enjoyed with a spike through your ear. Please go back in time, and see the real Supernova show on Thursday. WSH

POINT JUNCTURE, WA, SWIM SWAM SWUM, REVERSE DOTTY AND THE CANDY CANE SHIVS

(Le Bloody Hummus Haus, 6805 N Maryland) Boy oh boy, we get to see Point Juncture, WA, twice in two days? This is almost too much! What's that? Tonight's show is FREE? Good gracious! PJWA writes awesome indierock, complete with bad-ass thumpy drumming, that PacNW signature loud-and-fuzzy guitar, and VIBRAPHONE for Jebus' sake. Listen to drummer/vocalist Amanda tell you that she'll "be your happy ending," and you know you'll be thinking about the one that got away. Lyrics that build with impressions rather than sledgehammers are the hallmark of many a great band; throwing in talented musicianship makes the combination lethal. I personally guarantee you will be a fan after this show. JW

30 SECONDS TO MARS

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) So listen, Jared Leto is not me and I'm not him, okay? Like, we're both hot, but he's kind of too-old-for-Hot-Topic creepy-hot, while I'm forever 16 hot. Got that? Plus why is dude always fighting with celebrities and dating weird, ugly actresses? C'mon, man, ANGELA CHASE. There's just something... about that girl. And, no, it doesn't count as pedophilia. (I'm forever 16, remember?) No, that's not just a line I use. Fuck this man; I'm gonna go play guitar AND NOT IN 30 SECONDS TO MARS, okay?! Frozen Embryos is my band. We rock. You just wait. JORDAN CATALANO

BOB WEIR & RATDOG

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Stupid fucking hippies... wasn't this whole "hippie" thing supposed to die with me? I mean, you know I'm dead right? Me, Jerry Garcia, King Hippie? Like, what the fuck man? Somebody pass me a stick of butter; I got some munchies comin' on. JERRY GARCIA

SATURDAY 2/17

HOLLERTRONIX'S LOW BUDGET, DJ 1996 OLYMPICS, BEYONDA

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15

HONKYTONK HOMESLICE, ASSEMBLY OF DUST

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Honkytonk Homeslice could be the worst band name ever chosen without the impetus of a revolver against one's forehead. A name that brings to mind country star Toby Keith dressed in a velour suit and spouting off NWA lyrics. Not a pretty picture. Luckily, if you're Bill Nershi, singer/guitarist/songwriter of the String Cheese Incident and driving force behind, ahem, Honkytonk Homeslice, it doesn't matter how unbearable your name is. Featuring Portlandite Scott Law on the mandolin, and Nershi's adorable and talented wife Jilian's original songs, Honkytonk Homeslice invites listeners to an evening of acoustic guitar. It isn't easy to get past the looming cloud of a name that hangs over this incredibly talented trio, but the challenge is well worth the reward. NS

BOB SEGER

(Rose Garden, One Center Court) See Music, pg. 17

THE BLOW, YACHT, TJO W/NEMO

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music, pg. 17

GOMEZ, BEN KWELLER

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Ben Kweller's recent eponymous album shows the same wide-eyed take on the world he's had since his debut, Sha Sha. There are no cringe-worthy "sex reminds her of eating spaghetti" moments like he had on that first album of Weezer and Ben Folds-inspired pop, but he still telegraphs lines like "over hill/over dale" like he's filling in the blanks. With lyrics like "I'm so sorry I've been paranoid/It's something in my head that I can't avoid," there's a sense of honesty and depth that shows what rock has always shown: Sometimes lyrics that fall flat on the page can mean everything in the context of hearing them. That's why we listen to music instead of reading it, and when Kweller gets it right, you can hold him up against the finest songwriters of the past 10 years. Sometimes you get the feeling that he's as surprised by this whole famous songwriter thing as anyone. Kweller creates a sort of Dazed and Confused pop, playing both Matthew McConaughey and the girls that Matty Mack sleeps with; Kweller keeps growing older, but his songs are always that young kid that they've been since he began. JW

SUNDAY 2/18

GRIZZLY BEAR, PAPERCUTS

(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) San Francisco–based band Papercuts employ various ghosts of popular music past in the construction of their keening, emotional songs. The dramatic swagger of Roy Orbison, the heart-tight sonic sparseness of Otis Redding, and the relaxed rock hypnotism of Blonde on Blonde–era Bob Dylan all find flourish in the music made by consummate songman Jason Quever and company. This month finds the release of their latest full-length, Can't Go Back, on Vetiver frontman/Devendra Banhart foil Andy Cabic's Gnomonsong label. Focused dually on the High Lonesome voice and the tape-saturated production aesthetic of Quever, it is a collection of beautiful and yearning songs and its accomplished air is the product of Papercuts' years of diligence and concerted refinement. SAM MICKENS See Music, pg. 19

MONDAY 2/19

TENACIOUS D, NEIL HAMBURGER

(Arlene Schnitzer Hall, 1037 SW Broadway) I know it's not cool to like Tenacious D. But you know what I think when people get all sneery when I mention I like them? Fuck you, I think! I think they're funny, I think! Then I think "That's weird. Am I really the sort of guy who cracks up when two fat guys make jokes about Cleveland Steamers and cock push-ups?" And then I start giggling, and doing that devil-horned rock hand thing, so I guess I am, and so be it, and so, at this point—roughly five years past Tenacious D's apparent expiration date—I've come to terms with it: I, for one, have yet to tire of the D's mock rock schtick, which apparently the rest of the world has (check the embarrassingly dismal box office receipts for their film, Tenacious D in the Pick of Destiny). Which I guess I get—Jack Black got kind of annoying (King Kong!), and Kyle Gass doesn't bring a whole lot to the table, but still—when I saw them live a few years back, opening for the once-great-and-now-embarrassing Weezer, they were a blast: funny, sharp, ad-libby, and doing a better job of kicking out their metal/cock-rock inspired jams than most honest-to-god rock bands I've seen. Dare I say it, they actually rocked. And yes, I can sense you sneering, asshole. And also, JB did a song with a Sax-A-Boom that I thought was awesome. But maybe that's just me. Which is okay. ERIK HENRIKSEN

THE THERMALS, STARS OF TRACK and FIELD, TEA FOR JULIE

(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15

TUESDAY 2/20

MATT VALENTINE & ERIKA ELDER, CHARALAMBIDES

(Reed Chapel, 3203 SE Woodstock) Tonight, we are blessed with a sublime musical pairing that goes together like bees and honey. Primarily known for his work with folk deconstructionists the Tower Recordings, the prolific Matt Valentine has spilled out a bevy of excellent releases as the Medicine Show and with cohort Erika Elder. Equally slumberous and gripping, the duo's blues mantras and ritualistic modal voyages are like gliding down rivers of ether. The vastly underrated Charalambides (pronounced "Char-eh-lam-bah-deez") have been stretching the outer boundaries of free folk since 1991, back when Devendra Banhart and Animal Collective were still pimply teenagers. Collaborators (and former man and wife) Tom and Christina Carter effortlessly induce spirit visions of fragile balladry and hallucinatory dreamscapes. Anyone with even a passing interest in psychedelic music will get more than their money's worth from this euphoric meeting of minds. JB

WEDNESDAY 2/21

THE SHINS, VIVA VOCE

(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Dear white people with gentle dispositions and nicely decorated kitchens, this show is sold out. Sorry. Love, THE SHINS

KRISTIN HERSH

(Music Millennium NW, 801 NW 23rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15

THE AUTUMN DEFENSE, TEITUR, JONATHAN WILSON

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The Autumn Defense, a duo featuring both John Stirratt and Pat Samsone from Wilco, kick off UnWilco week at the Doug Fir, during which four of the five Not Tweedy Boys will perform on the Fir's sweet subterranean stage. It's clear from the first flute-and-vocals call-and-response of lead single "Canyon Arrow" (I really hope they are going for the Simpsons pun there) that this is a bit of a '70s hippie-shit band, minus the embarrassing jammery. They've got vocals that remind me of fellow Chicagoans Sea and Cake, and Stirratt's bass playing, high in the mix, feels alternately loungy and driving. I'm a ginormous Wilco fan, so I hope that doing their own thing means that they don't get sick of being Jeff and the Tweedies, and it's all pretty good, I guess. But this kind of project does make you wonder: Would anyone care if their pedigree wasn't impeccable? JW

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