THE PONYS, DEERHUNTER, YES FATHER
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, pg. 19.
PLAID, COPY, RENA JONES
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 13.
(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) Where's Lou Dobbs when you need him? Someone needs to stand up (maybe build some sort of wall?) to this rampant Russian indierock immigration. Seems like the Cold War produced a hot flash of Eastern Bloc performers who are now storming the states with the intensity of Red Dawn. This month alone will see Red Elvises, Regina Spektor, and now Persephone's Bees. Persephone's Bees are fronted by the frosty-cool vocals of relocated Ruskie Angelina Moysov, a lead singer who looks and coos like a female Bond villain in a nightclub scene. The band just got off tour with the New Cars, a horrible faux pas which we will chock up to language barrier difficulties—since as everyone knows, in Russian there are no words for "Todd Rundgren." EZRA ACE CARAEFF
STEPHEN MARLEY, JR. GONG, K'NAAN
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) With one louder-than-a-bomb single in 2005, Damian "Jr. Gong" Marley exploded with a light so bright it finally outshone the shadow of his father. "Welcome to Jamrock" brought the Marley legacy into the 20th century, Damian's street-level depiction of the "real hardcore" of today's Kingston ghetto resounding over brother Stephen's bone-crushing production (sampling Ini Kamoze's "World a Reggae" bassline). Stephen released an album of his own just last month, his first full-time solo work after winning a grip of Grammys as his brother's producer. Mind Control is a heady blend of Jamaican musical styles, nodding toward dancehall, hiphop, and soul, but dedicated to true roots rock. It's not as iconic as any of Bob's records, but how could it be? With that kind of lineage, just standing on its own is enough. JONATHAN ZWICKEL
CLOROX GIRLS, RED DONS
(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) Clorox Girls' new record J'aime les Filles (for those of you who are French-impaired, that's "I Love the Girls") is a great piece of pop-infused punk, consistent with the band's amazing skill in the art of melody lines. Where others go astray by trading formula for pop sensibility, the Clorox Girls unleash their penchant for ornery squalls and unexpected arrangements—things that contrast nicely with their delicious hooks. Get your dose in person—their live sets are always a blast. LANCE CHESS
THE THERMALS, SOPHE LUX, THE SUN THE SEA
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 13.
THE LONG WINTERS, THE BROKEN WEST
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The list of things that were once right in the world, and no longer are, is a long one: baseball, Deadwood and Arrested Development before dumb-ass network head honchos swooped in and zapped them and Saturday morning cartoons away (what's it take for a guy to get some Merry Melodies?). Moms and dads are quick to remember the Woodstock era and claim that music will never be as good, but Los Angeles band the Broken West head a new list of things that are just as good as they ever will be. The beautiful, sandy, Western melodies recall open plains and the kind of pop smarts that are timeless. Lead singer Ross Flournoy brings an aura of pleasant, sun-dried wistfulness to the table in the same manner that the Band and the Waxwings have done before him. It's tough to beat. SEAN MOELLER
GIRL TROUBLE, HEAD, THE FALL-OUTS
(Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy) Back when grunge was rearing its ugly head and spewing grunge-isms all over the Northwest, there were a few bands that worked to destroy the pigeonhole. One such band was Tacoma's Girl Trouble. After celebrating their 23rd year together, the band still delivers psychotic garage-ified true NW ass shakin'. Along with them, the Fall-Outs made some of the best '60s-style garage rock to come out of the Emerald City since the Sonics. So, go on—hip shake, do the mashed potato, and learn that rain ain't the only way to get wet in the Northwest. LC
THE CLAY WHEELS
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) Like the Bones Brigade skeleton tearing through your old brother's deck, San Jose's the Clay Wheels represent skateboarding's golden era of big wheels, abandoned backyard pools, and gleaming that goddamn cube. With the exception of Canada's S.T.R.E.E.T.S., skate-thrash has seen better days, instead being replaced by predictable mall-punk, a genre better suited for extreme rollerblading than half-pipes and McFlips. The Clay Wheels sloppily kick out the jams with the ferocity of MC5 and pogo about like the early painter-cap-with-flaps days of Suicidal Tendencies. Skate or Die, broseph. EAC
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Local band Crosstide has become a Portland staple, playing sweeping, forlorn songs that will have you emotionally invested in under a minute. And playing along with them is Portland's Drew Grow, an equally affecting singer/songwriter who is releasing his fantastic new album, Next Lips, tonight. Grow plays guitar and sings with the passion of a worldly guy who is a little sad, a little mad, and a little badass. He employs backup vocals, a tambourine, and an often lo-fi, off-kilter sound, which makes his music utterly compelling. Along with Crosstide and Grow, check out a bevy of musical artists they're friends with, in tonight's extensive all-night musical extravaganza. KATIE SHIMER
31KNOTS, THE JOGGERS, WET CONFETTI
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 15.
AEREOGRAMME, THE TWILIGHT SAD, A NORTHERN CHORUS, WE'RE FROM JAPAN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, pg. 19.
THE SHAKY HANDS, ADRIAN ORANGE, EVOLUTIONARY JASS BAND
(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) The Thermals' Hutch Harris wants to be affiliated with the Shaky Hands—as he recently told the omnipotent Pitchfork after seeing them play a house party—and the reason for this is not a stumper: The Shaky Hands lack the tight, tight tension of the best Thermals music, but what they are missing in that category is made up for in a sly shagginess that releases endorphins along with a lazy breeziness. They remind me of the Yardbirds or anyone from the Rushmore soundtrack, perfectly dirty and minimal and garage-y, a group glad to rock out on the back porch of a wooden shack with shingles missing and a wood-burning fireplace, using the floorboards for percussion. Obviously, they aren't as miniscule and bare as the above picture, but they seem to embrace the ideals of past eras of jangly rock 'n' roll in a way that could time warp a person back to when the genre was new and boys were just learning that they didn't need to bathe all that often to be attractive to women. They just needed that catchy, catchy song. SM
BARK, HIDE AND HORN, OR THE WHALE
(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Bark, Hide and Horn, a band that eschews the serial comma, sure knows how to plan ahead. Not only are they working on a song cycle based on old National Geographic articles—certainly something that doesn't happen by accident—they know exactly when to kick the horns in, add on some harmonies, or throw in an ear-perking turn of phrase. Writing about the workers' rights of worker bees or sleepy grizzly bears, Bark, Hide and Horn's ambition permeates every crescendo and well-placed "darlin'." JIM WITHINGTON
SILVERSUN PICKUPS, JONAH, SEA WOLF
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Each time I listen to the well-wrought songs of Silversun Pickups, I get more and more enamored of this band that takes grunge and shoegaze, crumples them up, and comes out with a sound that's very much their own. Think sinuous, fuzzy guitars; propulsive, sometimes stammering drums; and songs with a tendency to spiral in on themselves in an intensely satisfying way. The best moments feature the interplay between Brian Aubert and Nikki Monninger as their voices writhe around each other, reaching higher and higher through the murk of distorted guitars. All of this interplay is best experienced live, where the band's intricate layers of harmony and discord can be disentwined and almost comprehended with the aid of your favorite licit or illicit substance. CHRIS McCANN
MASTER MUSICIANS OF BUKKAKE, NEUNG PHAK, ALAN BISHOP, POREST
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) After a long absence from the Northwest freak scene, it's great to see Seattle's infinitely strange Master Musicians of Bukkake back in action. These costumed deviants are purveyors of a free-flowing forest sprawl similar to Kemialliset Ystävät, but with much darker ethnic and ceremonial overtones. Teetering between the transcendent and nightmarish, be forewarned that the Master Musicians' sonic rituals are primed to conjure up all manner of ancient spiritual forces. On a much lighter tip is Neung Phak, perhaps better known for their dual identities as the long-standing Bay Area group, Monopause. Inspired by their travels in Southeast Asia, Neung Phak whip up an infectious blend of Thai, Vietnamese, and Cambodian pop music. JOSH BLANCHARD
AT DUSK, SCIENCE OF YABRA, MONOFOG
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 13.
LIMBECK, HOT ROD CIRCUIT, THE FORECAST, OCEANA
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) While region is seldom tied tight to a genre of music, bands that perform country music (or any variation of it) must constantly be on the defensive for living anywhere outside of the Waffle House's jurisdiction. This is especially true with Limbeck, who rock the pearl snaps but call Orange County their home. Like their peers Lucero, Limbeck's country lives with a "post" lodged in front of it, as it eschews traditional twang for a more relaxed Americana sound. While they're more likely to perform at The Peach Pit After Dark than The Grand Ole Opry, you'll find a warmth in Limbeck's country that transcends all geographic rules. EAC
TED LEO & THE PHARMACISTS, LOVE OF DIAGRAMS
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See Music, pg. 15.
SAY ANYTHING, SAVES THE DAY, JOHN RALSTON
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Once More with Feeling, pg. 27.
BLISS N ESO, BRAILLE, DEBASER
(Greek Cusina, 404 SW Washington) There is an awful lot lost in the translation when it comes to Australia's Bliss n Eso. When this trio raps about "Birds slurpin' my schlong," I'm assuming they are merely being misogynistic, and not hating on winged animals (zoogynistic?). For a former penal colony, Australia's hiphop exports are severely disappointing and, as in the case of Bliss n Eso, they lack all tangible style and instead just lampoon the usual goofy dudes making frat rhymes. I'll cut this Haterade session short, and instead happily compliment local emcee Braille. Overwhelmingly positive, Braille is a pristine example of the diverse make-up of NW hiphop. His flow is impeccable, his rhymes solid, and if you're not downright inspired by his Shades of Grey album, you're dead to me. EAC
THE SHOW IS THE RAINBOW,SO SO MODERN
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Quite possibly the greatest thing to ever emerge from the state of Nebraska, the Show Is the Rainbow, a one-man band fueled by Darren Keen, turns Attention Deficit Disorder into a musical style. Not surprisingly, TSITR lists its top influences as Frank Zappa, Beck, and the Faint; but Keen makes the music into something of his own with synthesizers, random guitar fills, crazy drum beats, and a complicated vocal style that starts with hiphop, ventures into back-up vocals for Beck's Midnite Vultures or B-sides for any Devo album, and ends with yelling a long-winded rant. The Show Is the Rainbow is self-described as "generally impatient music." I couldn't agree more. DAN SAVICKAS
BUTTERY LORDS, HONEYCUT, THE BEAUTY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) How the holy hell have I slept on Honeycut? A Quannum Projects band hailing from the Bay Area, this trio incorporates a stylish beat-heavy take on indie funk. Frontman Bart Davenport fuses a whole world of varied influences (Curtis Mayfield, Beck) tightly together to create a walloping base for his soulful croon. Bumping like the finer points of Jamie Lidell's Multiply—or an animation-free Gorillaz—their intelligent swagger will surely bring the guilt-free party to the dancefloor. EAC
MEN, WOMEN & CHILDREN, BEDOUIN SOUNDCLASH, THE OOLAHS, WE ARE THE FURY
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) So now mall-punk emo is flirting with dance music and beats and it's not a good look for anyone. Fall Out Boy are probably the most high-profile example of this trend, but they're not the only suburban idols who've heard the siren call of LCD Soundsystem's synthesizer or Timbaland's drum machine. Men, Women, and Children are a Glassjaw-descended electro rock band (isn't one Head Automatica enough?) that surround shrill, auto-tuned vocals with all manner of neon ProTools ephemera in a futile effort to polish the proverbial turd. While on an MTV2-sponsored tour with Jared Leto's 30 Seconds to Mars, the band was apparently robbed of their tour van, trailer, and equipment worth a total of $100,000. Sadly, not even that has stopped them. ERIC GRANDY
POP TOMORROW!: MY FAVORITE EVERYTHING, CURIOUS HANDS, WHETHER
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Compelled to pound and squawk their way through random-feeling lyrics and discordant guitar runs, Curious Hands feels rooted in the "rawness" of the early-'90s underground. The singer sounds like a spazzier version of the guy from Silkworm, explaining the easy appeal of their poppier tracks. I feel like they are purposely going for something here—"let us do our thing, man!"—but the fact remains that their jumpiness will eventually wear you out. Whether brings instru-metal that crisply churns forward with the right balance of simple and complex, inspiring head-bobbing galore. Their recordings also sound far better than any basement/laptop tracks should. JW
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) By the time my early high school garage band began aping the Cowboy Junkies—specifically by lifting their covers of "Sweet Jane" and "Blue Moon"—their breakout album, The Trinity Session, had already been out for years. For us, though, their countrified morphine-drip sound sent us back even further, turning us on to the Velvet Underground, which quickly transformed into a Yo La Tengo fascination. Many years and drugs have passed since then, and Cowboy Junkies have put out a ton of records—90 percent of which I haven't heard. But their tour stop in Portland is still a welcome blast from a past that, when it was the present, was filled with endless possibilities, guilt-free intoxication, and precious summer crushes. SCOTT MOORE
RELIENT K, MAE, SHERWOOD
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) The Jesus-cheerleaders in Relient K are unrelenting in their spreading of the gospel via slick, mall-ready polite punk. Their latest, Five Score and Seven Years Ago, debuted high on the Billboard charts (#6) and the band has now usurped the Christian Rock Crown right off the sandy-blond domes of Switchfoot. They are like the entire Cornerstone Festival rolled tight into one convenient package, the "Fun-Size" Christian rock snack that would be perfect for Halloween, if the holiday wasn't just an excuse for the Devil to take your candy-eating soul. EAC