DO MAKE SAY THINK, THE BERG SANS NIPPLE
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) I love them! I heart them! I'm a giggling schoolgirl with perfectly cut asymmetrical bangs and stars tattooed on my forearms! Low vs. Diamond is my newest, most for real crush ever! Seriously though, I'm not kidding. I've been listening to their EP, "Life After Love" like an obsessed fanatic. These handsome lads from Los Angeles have just been picked up by the Killers' management and are on their way to wherever the big shots go. SALINA NUÑEZ
GRAVITY & HENRY, FOUREVERYOUNG, JOHN VECCHIARELLI
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) This sweet little treat, an intimate night with Gravity and Henry frontman Matt Sheehy, is all yours. Sheehy's voice is approachable, undeniably polite, and works best on bright mornings of sleeping in and attempting (and failing) to do The New York Times crossword puzzle while listening to that one Damien Rice record you wouldn't usually admit to liking. It's not the usual drinking and crying while listening to Elliott Smith sort of fare, but isn't it about time you grew the fuck up and realized that there is more to your life than your predictable depression? EZRA ACE CARAEFF
ROBERT RANDOLPH AND THE FAMILY BAND, RYAN SHAW
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Nowadays you can sell a kidney in order to sit in the back row of a geriatric Rolling Stones concert, but viewing legends in the burgeoning days of their musical careers, that's almost an once-in-a-lifetime experience. That's what you're going to get with Robert Randolph and the Family Band: legends in the making. It has been five years since Robert Randolph and kin alit the world with their God-touched brand of blues-soul-funk. In 20 years Robert Randolph's stage shows will have grown in myth and wonder. He will be heralded as music royalty. Do not miss this opportunity. NOAH SANDERS
THE CHE ARTHUR THREE, THE ANGRY ORTS
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) On "The Best Thing," the Angry Orts' singer Sara Wiltshire plays the how-come-you-can't-see-how-great-I-am game, later claiming "I'll get you in my bed/I'm rippin' you to shreds." The band here adds super-tight rawk behind Wiltshire's Patti Smith-inspired belting, and there's certainly potential here, but I do think that their earlier demos show a bit of a Blondie-inspired poppiness that might be a better fit. JIM WITHINGTON
STATE RADIO, NEW AMSTERDAMS, STREET TO NOWHERE
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Whether you feel it's something to celebrate or denigrate, bands like Fall Out Boy and Panic! at the Disco would never have existed were it not for Matt Pryor and his troupe of Get Up Kids. When the Kids released Four Minute Mile a new form of emotional music clicked on and this band from Kansas City were the poster boys. Pryor, toward the end of the band's run, began releasing New Amsterdams albums that—believe it or not—showed that his heart could be displayed even more prominently on his sleeve, adorned with a circle of road flares. It's the main course for Pryor, whose raspy voice and love-at-all-costs mentality still should be considered the tools of a founder. SEAN MOELLER
YOUTH GROUP, JONAH, UHF
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Every self-identified dorky kid from the '80s listened to Weird Al just about as soon as they got their own tape player. One of those kids grew up to be Stephen Lynch, and he's back to his own material after getting nominated for a Tony(!) for playing the title role in the Broadway adaptation of The Wedding Singer. When Lynch is on—most brilliantly in the song "D&D" ("Fightin' with the legends of yore/It's D&D! Never kissed a lady before!")—he inspires the kind of laughter that makes you concentrate on quieting down to not miss the next line. JW
25 TA LIFE, LAHAR, AMERICAN ME, UNRESTRAINED
(The Signal, 2007 E 12th, Vancouver, WA) Yo Ricktalife, where ya dogs at? What? They've given up straightedge and are now taking their kids to play dates in their Astro Vans? If Ian MacKaye was the accidental creator of straightedge, Ricktalife was the genre's P.T. Barnum. The heavily inked singer for 25 Ta Life has watched the glory days of straightedge hardcore's hyper-aggressive thuggery—a scene he helped create—unceremoniously mosh into oblivion. It's hard to muster any sympathy since East Coast hardcore has always been little more than a bunch of knuckle-draggers looking for an excuse to beat each other senseless in an attempt to muffle their throbbing homoerotic desires for each other. If you can't fuck his ass, you might as well kick it in the pit at a Madball concert. The music is the least essential part of this world, one where you get "XXX" tattoos at age 19, and regret them with every single beer you crack open as an adult. EAC
(Rose Garden, 1 Center Court) Have you noticed they still haven't taken down that five-story-tall picture of Barry Manilow that scares the poop out of everyone disembarking from I-5? That freaking concert was in January! Well, if someone could do me a favor, it would be great if you could wheatpaste a picture of Rod Stewart on top of Barry. Both look like they have been laminated to be sure, but I'll take Rod's retreading of classic songs from the '30s and '40s over Barry's retreading of classic songs from the '50s and '60s, any day. Why? Because Barry never wrote anything as good as "Tonight's the Night"—no, not even "Weekend in New England." And if Rod sings "Every Picture Tells a Story," then I suppose I can live with Rod's Saran-Wrapped face startling me for the next few months. WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY
SUPER DESTROYERS, THE TRASHIES, THOUGHT PATTERNS, THE FOXGLOVES
(Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy) What makes a man get trashed? A simple question, yes, and tonight, the Trashies will bring you the simplest of answers. These four self-proclaimed "scumfucks" from Seattle move the bar for the lowest common denominator even lower with songs like "Sweatpants Boner" and "Blue Tarp." And yet their infectious brand of hook-laden punk, reminiscent of the Spits or GG Allin, will leave you wishing they played in your basement every weekend. So pick up that PBR and revel in what may be the smartest night of stupidity you'll ever come across. ROB SIMONSEN
CLOROX GIRLS, PLAN R, DAGGER OF THE MIND, SLEEPWALKERS RIP, SUPER DESTROYERS(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) Clorox Girls are a bit of a local-band-makes-good story. They seem to have a relentless need to tour (once logging 47 European shows in 45 days), and that's pretty admirable. Apparently they also used to be pretty scrappy, but a few listens of the available songs from their forthcoming album, J'aime Les Filles, brand them as a remarkably cleanly produced, straight-up, punk-by-the-numbers band. JW
THE WORLD COURT, VALET, WOELV, VANESSA RENWICK
(The Artistry, 4315 SE Division) In a town as gender progressive as ours, great all-women, no-gimmick bills like this should be the rule, not the exception. Honey Owens' largely solo affair, Valet, is as transcendent as everything else she touches; a seamless blend of installation art, blissed-out electronics and free-form vocal journeys. World Court are relative new kids on the block, but the trio's lo-fi fantasy pop has already landed them an upcoming single on the excellent German label Tomlab. You go girls! JOSH BLANCHARD
BLUE SKIES FOR BLACK HEARTS, THE FAST COMPUTERS, THE REVISIONS, SMILE BRIGADE
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash St) As far as I am concerned the Fast Computers are the only band ever to hail from Eugene and not play reggae or feature a didgeridoo. Instead, The Fast Computers makes lemonade out of the lemons (chronic out of hemp?) dealt to them by the city they call home. Similar to the criminally over-looked My Favorite, the band allows their new-wave urges to intermingle with some cold, cold electronics. It can be a little barren at times, but when your hometown is trapped under a permanent patchouli haze, you'd make some desolate music too. EAC
EL PERRO DEL MAR, ROSIE THOMAS,ALELA DIANE
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25 and Music, pg. 27.
THE DEAD SCIENCE, SHOLI, GHOST TO FALCO, PARENTHETICAL GIRLS
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
(Bagdad Theater, 3702 SE Hawthorne) Freedom of speech champions Negativland emerged during the '80s as an important, albeit confusing, Tower-of-Babel voice in the nebulous landscape of copyright law and fair use. Famously sued into near oblivion by Island Records over the liberal sampling of U2's music and imagery in their controversial release U2, Negativland use sound and image collage rather than straightforward musical performance to challenge social constructs and corporate giants alike. Their "It's All in Your Head FM" live stage show addresses the juggernaut of monotheism and its withering effect on the collective human psyche by utilizing the live venue as a canvas for the unique cerebral gumbo crafted exclusively by these highly evocative and entertaining tricksters of performance-based culture-jamming. LANCE CHESS
THE LOVED ONES, DEAD TO ME, THIRTY3, BROADWAY CALLS
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) There was a brief window when the Alkaline Trio might have been the greatest band in the world. Knowing this, the band tried to get serious and abandoned their usual songs about wasting your life as a go-nowhere bike messenger in favor of wearing guyliner and singing about vampires. It was terrible to watch, and about as scary as a box of Count Chocula. Philadelphia's the Loved Ones—contemporaries of Alkaline Trio—meanwhile, have not strayed from their punk roots, as they still pop their blue-collars with great pride as they crank out melodic punk tunes that don't need to be dumbed-down in any capacity. EAC
SUFI SAFARI: STYNX, TELEPHONE, CIRCUS BEBOP, SOLOVOX, EMILY POST
(Outlaws, 722 E Burnside) Sufi Safari is the brainchild of MarchFourth Marching Band's John Averill, so brace yourself for some serious weirdness tonight. Headliners Stynx, in their first and final show, are a cover band that feature members of the Eels and Solovox and who, despite what the name might make you assume, will never play anything from Styx. Also, keeping with the Safari theme, jungle attire is encouraged, so go nuts, Tarzan. EAC
FUJIYA & MIYAGI, STRENGTH, THE BEAUTY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 29.
THE ALTARBOYS, 3INCH MAX, PISS SHIT FUCK
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) Usually you don't get piss, shit, and fucking all at once, unless you're into that sort of thing. You see, Piss Shit Fuck is a band, not just things you're more likely to do when drunk. For the sake of comparison, let's say the band's classic punk rock posture is the piss that is pooled below a urinal. Their moments of doom-dipped metal can be the shit on your shoe. And their mixture of noise and thrash can be the pockmarked drunken couple getting it on in the bathroom. MATT DRISCOLL
SUBARACHNOID SPACE, SUISHOU NO FUNE, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) Though I have a penchant for catchy choruses and designer jeans, my favorite music is tripped-out drone-and-moan psychedelic jams. God, did I just say jam? Suishou No Fune is two guys, one lady, and enough thunderously dooming psyche rock to keep your mind busy for a dozen listens. One song morphs into another and while you're riding feedback, the indecipherable vocals crawl toward another soundscape. Tube is going to be perfectly cavernous for our Japanese guests—don't forget earplugs or you're on your way to premature hearing loss. SN
BLOC PARTY, FINAL FANTASY, SMOOSH
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See Music, pg. 29.
NAKED AGGRESSION, DISASTER STRIKES, MOUTH SEWN SHUT, DREADFUL CHILDREN, DOG SOLDIER
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) Started in 1990 in opposition to the first Bush's war, Naked Aggression play close-to-the-bone anarchy punk with an overt conscience. In 2003, emerging five years after mourning the unimaginable loss of the male half of the husband and wife team who founded the band, Naked Aggression's founder/vocalist Kirsten Patches felt the band was the loudest voice available to naysay the junior Bush's rerun of his father's war. Far from dwelling on loss, NA continues to rail against totalitarianism with the punch of their hollering squall. LC
THE MATCHES, I AM GHOST, ESCAPE THE FATE, THE HIGHER
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Give the Matches credit for trying to stretch the narrow boundaries of pop-punk into something more ambitious. Then quickly take that credit away when you realize that because of their damn ambitions the Matches sound like 311 on a Sparks binge. EAC
GENE LOVES JEZEBEL, DAHLIA, THE UPSIDEDOWN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Everything 1980s is totally now. Day-glo accessories, slouchy suede boots with pointy toes, and the return of Gene Loves Jezebel. It's junior high all over again. Welsh twins Michael and Jay Aston have spent the last 10 years fighting over Manic-Panic hair dye, velvet cloaks, and the copyright for the band name Gene Loves Jezebel. God, what a waste. These guys were lame, candy-ass poser goth rockers who could barely hold a tune or play the guitar 20 years ago. Now, we've got Michael Aston with his scruffy "grown-up rocker" shag, squawking the bloody hell out of their only hit, "Desire." Oh, you don't remember it? Don't worry, it's not worth remembering and definitely not worth re-visiting. SN
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See Music, pg. 27.
DOLOREAN, DANIEL MASON
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) What band hasn't questioned the validity of what it spends the majority of its time doing—writing songs, recording songs, living like paupers, sinking deeper into debt, driving obscene hours to play for a bartender and the town weirdo, seeing a future that always includes the pauper thing? Dolorean lead singer Al James thought about his world long and hard while writing the band's new record, You Can't Win, allowing himself to plunge into the darkest of thoughts and see where he would surface. It's an album that's alive with frustration and answerless questions and it might be the band's—which is primed and ready to be the next Bonnaroo/My Morning Jacket crowd favorite—master work to date. SM
CROSSTIDE, TRANSFER, TUGBOAT FANTASTIC
(Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy) The Portland-based quintet of high school friends, Crosstide, is moody, dark Brit-pop goodness. On their most recent album, Life as a Spectator, there are obvious nods to their self-professed influences, such as My Bloody Valentine and Sunny Day Real Estate, but Crosstide still manages to maintain its individuality; the songs are quite simply beautiful, regardless. ERIN LACOUR
OLD GROWTH, SCIENCE OF YABRA, DRUNKEN BOAT
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Old Growth is an energetic trio that takes the classic pop punk sound super seriously. From the "one, two, three, four" to the "whoa oh oh oh"s that pepper their songs. They spent most of their winter touring Europe with Science of Yabra and are more than ready to kick out a set to say hello to Portland. SN