ZEKE, LOPEZ, ROCK N ROLL SOLDIERS, EAGLEHAWK (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Loud, hard, fast, and frantic punkers, Zeke are like a wild horse galloping at top speed to avoid being captured by ranchers. With songs like "Let's Get Drugs" and "I Don't Give a Fuck," Zeke certainly ascribe to the punk rock lifestyle, but manage to play their music without sounding like they just pounded a fifth of Jim Beam. Or maybe they will sound like that tonight, who knows for sure--but it's worth finding out. KATIE SHIMER

AGNOSTIC FRONT, MARTYR AD, DEATH BEFORE DISHONOR, ALL SHALL PERISH (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd) In the just-released Don Letts documentary Punk: Attitude, a now grey-flecked Henry Rollins makes two points worth considering: 1) that no one really thought punks from California had any legitimate angst because of the fact that they were surrounded by "beautiful girls, surfing, and oranges" and 2) that "Agnostic Front could never be from California." Now, if you're going to follow this line of thinking, it seems fair to say that Agnostic Front could also never be from the year 2005, as their particular brand of bicep-flexed, archaic hardcore so recalls a particular time and a place (that being the Bowery in the late '80s), which is partially why it's so hard to believe anyone would find relevance in them today. Then again, this is a band that the New York hardcore scene once held a benefit show to spring their singer from prison, so who are we to doubt your devotion? TREVOR KELLEY

MR. AND MRS. EVIL, HANK IV, SEX WITH GIRLS, DJ QUARTZ (Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) An underground rock staple of San Francisco's infectious noise scene descends upon us tonight in the form of the sleeked up and psychotically deconstructed and powerful Mr. and Mrs. Evil, whose live set is not to be missed. Live, their songs spread chaos like wildfire through a zoom lens, with radiant grungey beats. Mr. and Mrs. Evil features ex-members of Icky Boyfriends, who are also unleashing a box set soon. Sex With Girls bring you all of their latest hits, and DJ Quartz spins noise and pop sets but plays whatever she wants, as it is her birthday. AMY VECCHIONE

BRIGHT EYES, THE FAINT, HER SPACE HOLIDAY (Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Considering that the world has heard more than enough jokes about Conor Oberst being the next Dave Pirner or whoever, I would instead like to take this opportunity to discuss what is quite possibly the most pointlessly addictive online game of all time--Dropkick the Faint. Inspired by "Dropkick the Punks," a track from their recent Wet From Birth record, the premise of Dropkick the Faint is deceptively simple: you play nameless, mohawked punk loitering outside the stage exit of a Faint show, who--after a series of spacebar clicks--barrels on stage to, well, Dropkick the Faint. Points are awarded primarily for distance. Located at www.dropkickthefaint.com, the game was commissioned by the otherwise humorless folks at Saddle Creek to promote Wet..., and almost makes me want to ignore the fact that the record totally sucked. ZAC PENNINGTON

CROSSTIDE, CLIMBER, THE DIVORCE (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) Combining the ambient explorations of Brian Eno and the more melodic elements of post-OK Computer Radiohead, hometown electro-heroes, Climber, make Music for Upscale Boutiques. This isn't a dis (or an actual album title), mind you. Climber's smooth, futuristic electronic creations have more pop-resonance than most of their knob-twiddling contemporaries, making them the ideal band to passively appreciate while shopping. I'm sure you've seen their ubiquitous posters. C'mon, guys, making 800 of them doesn't make the design any better. Locals Crosstide must have been apprenticed to U2 at a young age, having honed their arena-friendly sad-boy rock to a suspicious perfection. They are soooo ready for MTV2--also not a dis. KIP BERMAN

NILE, KING DIAMOND, BLACK DAHLIA MURDER, BEHEMOTH (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Middle Eastern-influenced death metal has never been better than in the hands of Nile. Growling vocals and incredible speed guitar paired with creepy snake-charming Eastern song adds an other-worldly edge to music that's already as other-worldly as it gets. KS

NOMEANSNO, DIRTCLODFIGHT, THE RUBY DOE (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Nomeansno have been around for a looong time, like over a quarter century. Despite the fact that things are still running relatively smoothly, the boys in the band are getting a little disgruntled, if the exhausted sounding bio written on their web page is any indication. What's vexing them is that no one knows who the fuck they are considering all the dues they've paid and stripes they've earned. So let's all stop taking them for granted tonight. Give up some love. MARJORIE SKINNER

THE RAVEONETTES, AUTOLUX, THE PEELS (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) By now, the list of Raveonettes talking points (all songs 3 minutes or less, 3 chords or less, recorded in a single key, and presented with a Russ Meyer B-movie eroticism) have, undoubtedly, become as well known as the band's music itself. But forget the bulk of what you've read about the Raveonettes and just listen--listen to the haunting, reverb-drenched vocal harmonies of Sharin Foo and Sune Rose Wagner, the cool beat generation drums, and the wall of guitar noise that skillfully mixes the best elements of the Shangri-Las and Sonic Youth. Sure, their noir vision, complete with motorcycles, black and white photography, and exaggerated masculinity/femininity occasionally borders on camp, but it's the sort of camp that becomes a cult classic. Faster Raveonettes! ROCK! ROCK! KB

MUDHONEY, NAPALM BEACH, HONKY (Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Chortle if you will, oh ye of little respect, but I've got news for you: at 17 years on, Mudhoney are still better than your friends' shitty band that's oh so ironically ripping them off. Oh, and guess what else: their last record was totally good! I'm not saying you have to be an asshole not to like Mudhoney, but it would probably help. ZP

MANDO DIAO, THE COMAS, DANKO JONES (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) Singer-namesake Danko Jones has donned many hats: standup comedian, painter, extra in some Danish soft-core porn flicks even. But this band is his life now, and the title and sound of their latest and first U.S. release, We Sweat Blood (Razor and Tie), cements it. To the uninitiated, it will seem like some swishy Rollins Band material. It does pale a bit to the debut, Born a Lion (Bad Taste Records/Universal), and in fact it reprises the best song from that record, "Lovercall." But overall the new one is heavier for the border metal crowd to which this'll get pushed. Their live show is as solid as ever, seething with road-tested tightness and Danko's hilarious between-song tales of evil women and the men who love them. Perhaps too cheeky with the winks for those who like their hard rock perfectly erect, Danko Jones may be just right for us irony-loving Yanks. The group will surely find out on this, their first full U.S. tour. ERIC DAVIDSON

SLOAN, MINUS 5 (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) I've been waiting to see Sloan since I first got hooked on '98s Navy Blues. Seven years later, I'm just as convinced that the Halifax-based quartet is going to deliver the same pants-shitting riffs, mind-blowing hooks, and Kodak moments I see in my head when I imagine that I'm Jay Ferguson harmonizing masterfully with Patrick Pentland. (This happens, by the way, every fucking time I listen to "C'mon, C'mon (We're Gonna Get It Started)" or the sordid tale of everyone's favorite miscreant, "Chester the Molester.") The most successful Canadian power-pop outfit of the '90s didn't make it down to my then home in Houston during my college years, as they were busy slowly winning over the States via tours with fiREHOSE and the Lemonheads, but their rabid fan base continued to grow exponentially into the early '00s. Action Pact (2003) is another gorgeous big star-ish collection of deeply powerful pop bliss on BMG International, from which they should play some jams this time. JOAN HILLER

ZIGGY STARDUST TRIBUTE NIGHT, THE POWER OF CREDENCE (Jasmine Tree Lounge, 401 SW Harrison) Though Marc Bolan deserves eternal props for being the true father of glam, to most folks it's fairly undeniable that David Bowie's The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders from Mars is the greatest glam rock album of all time. So, if a bunch of Portland's finest musicians (Green Circles, Real Pills, Cosmic Salvation Band) come together to pay tribute to said greatest glam rock album of all time IN COSTUME, you go, right? Right. For those of you who prefer a different sort of revival, Power of Credence (Clampitt, Gaddis and Buck, Power of County) will raid the CCR catalog. KB

DAMIEN JURADO, TWO GALLANTS, SAIL ON, SAILOR!, MATT SHEEHY (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Damien Jurado for all his loveliness, makes me wish I had a pillow and a blanket when I see him live. He's great, though, as are supporters Sail On, Sailor! who, despite one of the lamest names in recent memory, spin indie pop as sweet as cotton candy. JWS

KEANE, BRENDAN BENSON (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) On first listen, Brendan Benson's Jack White-produced The Alternative to Love is pure, sweet power pop, telling unabashed stories of love. But peel away the shiny radio-ready layers and you'll see Benson and company dug through pop rock's historical junkyard so thoroughly, they came out with only the most interesting pieces. Incorporating McCartney/Lennon-esque vocal interplay, Michael Jackson-style funk grooves, unstoppable Weezer-like hooks, and Pavement-ish crash and crunch, The Alternative to Love (V2) is eclectic yet coheres gracefully thanks to Benson's lovable, run-together lyrical flow and honest passion throughout. While much of Benson's buzz has been built on White's involvement, The Alternative to Love's merits really derive from Benson's idiosyncratic knack for pop craft and charming willingness to open his heart and let us all in. JENNY TATONE

AMY RAY, FAMILY OUTING (Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) The media and public alike automatically assume that anything associated with the Indigo Girls means standing around a campfire with a bunch of barefoot, sandalwood-scented earth mothers. Wrong. Amy Ray's (one half of the duo) new solo album, Prom, boasts DIY punk attitude aplenty. As on Ray's 2001 solo debut, Stag, the Georgia native is once again joined by kick-ass cohorts, including guitarist Donna Dresch and drummer Kate Schellenbach (Luscious Jackson). Musically, she spans a gamut, from a brooding meditation on addiction that recalls vintage Neil Young ("Covered for You") to vibrant power-pop ("Driver Education"). What Ray offers here may not be straight-up folk, but it is definitely cool as fuck. KURT B. REIGHLEY

MONADE, THE ZINCS, CORRINA REPP & KEITH SCHREINER (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See "CD Reviews," Pg 17

THE PERCEPTIONISTS, BLUE SCHOLARS (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) It feels like an unjust claim to make against a record this propulsively pleasurable, but the most immediately striking thing about Black Dialogue, the debut full-length album by Boston-based hiphop trio the Perceptionists, is how smart it is. "Well-crafted," the record's 12 compositions will invariably be labeled, but canny artistry--the intricate chemistry of double frontmen Mr. Lif and Akrobatik, the routine wrangling of huge ideas into smooth, lyrical dynamite--accounts for only half the group's brilliance. The rest comes from the men themselves, each of whom has applied himself to impressive effect elsewhere--Lif on his 2002 classic I, Phantom, Akrobatik on his 2003 debut Balance, DJ Fakts One on both and more--and each of whom boasts unprecedented focus and power here. DAVE SCHMADER

SUPERSYSTEM, KILL ME TOMORROW, DIE MONITR BATSS, WE QUIT (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See "Music," pg 27

THIEVERY CORPORATION (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Suavely eclectic Thievery Corporation (Eric Hilton and Rob Garza) established their rep with genre-spanning DJ sets and splifftastic triphop productions that oozed cosmopolitanism from every groove. They roll their sonic joints with enough choice Asian, Latin, African, jazz, and bossa-nova ingredients to sell over 100,000 per release while avoiding creative stagnation. On the new The Cosmic Game, TC enlist high-end rockers like Wayne Coyne, David Byrne, and Perry Farrell, and get bluntly, leftily political on tracks like "Warning Shots," "Revolution Solution," and "Marching the Hate Machines (Into the Sun)." But the duo still reside in the global village's high-rent district, so loyal fans won't be disappointed. A five-piece band performs tonight. DAVE SEGAL

IFIHADAHIFI, YUMA NORA (Hotel, 503 W Burnside, third floor) In Portland, you can't throw a rock without hitting somebody's garage full of (formerly) cheap analog keyboards. While marrying the thrift store synth aesthetic to noisy rock and roll may be old news in these parts, that doesn't mean we shouldn't celebrate when someone really good at it comes to visit. Ifihadahifi (yes, it's a palindrome) bring their dweeby/raucous attack all the way from Milwaukee, WI. Their latest record No More Music sounds like old Brainiac missing a few black keys (or is it Six Finger Satellite missing the white keys?). Regardless, the band gets really epic in concert with a suicidal live enthusiasm worthy of Fireballs of Freedom. Guaranteed to rock your ass into dancing with their heavy grooves and processed vocals--and still peel the paint off the walls with their sheer sonic attack. Local knob-twiddlers Yuma Nora will make certain there's little paint left to peel at this party. NATHAN CARSON

RASPUTINA, HAZARD COUNTY GIRLS (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Rasputina's 1996 debut, Thanks For the Ether, was one of the most exhilaratingly original statements of a new model for pop/rock music that the decade produced. The record wielded the high drama and harmonic complexity of the most romantic of classical music and compressed them into rippling pop forms with more grace and emotional dexterity than any prog-cock band in history. Despite an undeniably acquired-taste sort of affect (spoken word pieces about the Donner Party, Marie Antoinette outfits, etc.) Rasputina also completely managed to produce moments of bare sadness and tenderness. While subsequent years have found them diluting the path a little with a glut of Led Zeppelin covers and a general upping of the kitsch vibe, they remain one of the most uncompromisingly original and creatively focused bands in these United States. SAM MICKENS

COOL NUTZ BIRTHDAY EXTRAVAGANZA FEATURING BOSKO, LIFESAVAS, BOOM BAP PROJECT, E-DAWG, MANIC LOK, WISE ONE, COOL NUTZ (Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) Jus Family Records proprietor and beloved man about town Cool Nutz celebrates the passing of another year tonight at Ash Street--and he's calling out favors from virtually everybody you can think of in Portland's hiphop community. It's not entirely clear what kind of performances are planned for this evening's festivities ("This will more of a party and less of a live show," the press release admits evasively), but either way, it's Wednesday night, and there's really nothing better to do. ZP

BETTER THAN EZRA, INGRAM HILL (Barracuda, 9 NW 2nd) Dear Better Than Ezra: It took years for me to overcome being born with my terribly cumbersome and awkward name, but I thought I was in the clear by my sophomore year in high school. But of course that was the year you decided to do the most clichd move ever: have your stupid band move to LA to "make it." Which of course you did--going platinum with Deluxe, an album that spawned one mediocre single for you and a lifetime of terribly obvious jokes for me. Thankfully your band, and band name, are on the verge of being forgotten, and I can have a couple joke-free years. That is until VH1 devotes some time to you on I Love the '90s. Then, once again, I'm screwed. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

TIGER ARMY, STREET DOGS, 12 STEP REBELS (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd Ave) Modern rockabilly artists aren't known for their artistic growth spurts, but Tiger Army hasn't hit the wall as hard as, say, the pointlessly prolific Reverend Horton Heat. In fact, the trio's third record trumps its punked-up predecessors in every category but velocity. Nick 13's expressive croon thrives in moodier melodic settings, while Jeff Roffredo's theatrically slapped stand-up bass provides a seismic undercurrent regardless of the songs' pace. As long as Tiger Army keeps up the cosmetics that earned it a cult following (ghoul makeup, graveyard-set album titles such as last year's Ghost Tigers Rise), even psychobilly purists won't mind its metamorphosis into musical maturity. ANDREW MILLER