JUNIOR PRIVATE DETECTIVE, RADEMACHER, GREAT AUNT IDA
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Apart from having one of the coolest band names ever, locals Junior Private Detective also happen to totally rock. They totally pop, too. They totally prog. They manage to do quite a lot very ambitiously, but in a way that seems simplistic by virtue of how breezily it all comes together. The phrase "math-pop" has been used, but in spite of this, JPD successfully evade coming off as formulaic. If things keep going as well, I imagine the detective agency constituting their employment will finally be inclined to promote them in the not-too-distant future. Har har. In summation: Junior Private Detective? They're cool, man. Totally. Just like their name. GARETT STRICKLAND
THE ROBOCOP KRAUS, THE PUNK GROUP, CLOROX GIRLS
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
BARRY SPARKS, RUBY RED, APRIL LEE BAND
(Roseland Grill, 10 NW 6th) I was all set to type excitedly about Barry Sparks from Dokken when I suddenly realized I don't know ANY Dokken songs. This much I know: "Dokken rhymes with rockin'." I have heard that repeated ad nauseum, but is it really true? Does Dokken really rhyme with—and thus raise monument to—rockin'? I'm not so sure anymore. Irony... what have you done to us? ADAM GNADE
DEICIDE, VITAL REMAINS, CREMATORIUM, WORLD OF LIES, DESOLATION
(Rock 'n' Roll Pizza, 11140 SE Powell) See Music, pg. 21.
JAMIE LIDELL, JIMMY EDGAR, THE BEAUTY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Once More with Feeling, pg. 37.
PETALS LIKE BRICKS, SWIMMERS, THE MANHOLES
(Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) Seattle's Petals Like Bricks make lo-fi, cello-led punk rock that sounds like the band is being chased down an alley. The singer is shuddering, out of breath, gasping out desperately while the songs race forward, slow down, then take off again when the cello starts scraping. Their songs are anxious, scrappy wraiths that sound a little like Conor Oberst if he were raised goth, then went art-punk around, I dunno, 15 or 16. From what I can tell, these guys are pretty new and don't have any records out, but as soon as they do, I'm fuckin' buying one—and I'm buying you one too. Check out myspace.com/petalslikebricks. The recordings aren't all that clear, but they sound like they mean it, so even if their shit isn't your style, give 'em a chance. AG
LIVING THINGS, DIAMOND NIGHTS, THE ADORED
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) The following letter was sent to Diamond Nights' record label (and forwarded to half the music industry) after their wild SXSW antics. "Although they sounded fantastic and were generally great guys... Diamond Nights caused major havoc at our broadcast last night in Austin. Bringing an entourage of about 10 drunken, drugged-out people who had to have hotel security called upon them for riding around on hotel luggage carts drinking boxed wine in our broadcast space. Not only were their groupies drunk... so was the band. It was blatantly obvious on the air as they boasted about drinking from a colostomy bag on the stage as they performed. Now, I know this is rock 'n' roll, but give me a flippin' break. Maybe you should consider assigning them a babysitter next time. We had to dump completely out of the broadcast during the second part of the interview because one of the members of their group in the audience screamed and dropped an f-bomb during the live broadcast. Previous to that they swore during the first part of their performance. Our engineer thankfully dumped out during that and was able to continue. But, the second time we just had to cut out completely. It's a real shame, because their performance was fantastic and one that we all looked forward to. We'll be editing the audio we do have from the performance and posting it on our website. But, please reconsider letting these fellas fend for themselves with their media-related appearances. They obviously need someone to watch over them. Thanks again for helping to set this up but it was quite a disappointing disaster.—Assistant Music Director, 89.3 The Current Minnesota Public Radio." AG
GRAVES, LAST OF THE BLACKSMITHS, WAXFIRE
(Acme, 1305 SE 8th) See Music, pg. 21.
JON LANGFORD'S SHIP & PILOT W/SALLY TIMMS, CASEY DIENEL
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Casey Dienel plays simple piano pop that sounds light and freewheeling on a precursory listen, but look deeper, pay attention to the words, and there's some weird, screwy trouble going on. A coffee beanery is about to explode. A highball-drinking, Playboy-reading, regular guy starts wearing his wife's clothes and divining secret messages transmitted from public urinals. Like Randy Newman or Nellie McKay, it's accessible and totally cool for radio, but there's some dark rot brooding below the surface. Which is to say, a good formula. Casey recently left Boston for New York and things seem to be happening for her (Pitchfork, big shows, blah blah). Catch her before she's a heavyweight. AG
QUASI, THE MINDERS
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Sweeeet-ass news: If Quasi's two-person classic rock attack wasn't beefy (grade-A, mofugger!) enough for you, they've hired on Joanna Bolme to play bass. Bolme has been known to add some extra thud to Stevie Malkmus' wonderful Jicks, and now she's turning the Q into a big ol' rock smackdown! In other Quasi news, the group's singer/axe-man Sam Coomes also plays in the mathy psyche band Pink Mountain (not to be confused with bearded sex rockers Pink Mountaintops). PM's new record will be out May 30 on Frenetic Records. Hot damn for local music! Hot damn for Quasi! GRANT MORRIS
MIGRATION WITH DJ DAVE ALLEN, PURA VIDA
(White Eagle, 836 NE Russell) See It's Who You Know, pg. 27.
KITTIE, EVERGREEN TERRACE, CALICO SYSTEM, INFLIKT
(Rock 'n' Roll Pizza, 11140 SE Powell) Kittie are an all-female "metal" band who've been around for years. They were all over the place for a while when their debut album, Spit, was released in 2000. Remember? Since then, they've had constant lineup changes, and been branded "the band to watch" numerous times. But I'm tired of watching. They're Canadian, they wear a lot of eye make-up, and they like portraying themselves as being tough-as-fuck chicks with attitudes. The only difference between them and Avril Lavigne, though, is an Ozzfest tour and heavy bass lines that they probably didn't write themselves. MEGAN SELING
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Hey everybody, did you hear the news? Sonic Arts is doing this really neat thing where they give out audio and video samples to creative teams, with the challenge of whipping up a three to six minute music video to be shown at Holocene as early as the following evening. What a cool idea, eh? On top of that, they're giving away a bunch of FREE STUFF—hardware, software, even an iPod Nano! Additionally, there will be DJs (DJ Othertempo and Alter Echo) and dancing, and the whole thing is being emceed by Kelley and Jason (the Kelley and Jason Show, Koto y Soto). Also, the cost of admission is ZERO DOLLARS! So not only do you have this incredibly interesting concept of an event, but you can also win all sorts of stuff and get your dance on and it doesn't cost a cent. Can you beat that with a stick? I can't. GS
SAY ANYTHING, PISTOLITA, SLOW RUNNER, ELA
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Pistolita are a quartet from San Diego, California, and thanks to their emotive piano-heavy pop songs, they're never going to escape the comparisons to acts like Ben Folds Five. But maybe they're cool with that. Their latest record, Oliver Under the Moon, harnesses the same adolescent energy with which recent tour buddies Saves the Day fuel their songs, but Pistolita don't take their venting to the streets via a three-chord chorus. Instead, their youthful concerns are released over a dynamic and often gorgeous piano, making the common statements about life's frustrations seem a lot more valid. It might just be a trick, but it's working. MS
THE PASSION OF THE CHRIST WITH THE SOUNDS OF SLAYER
(Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
IN GOWAN RING, PLANTS, NICK CASTRO
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Plants' music is like being dropped from the sky into a sensory deprivation chamber. It's dark and wet and quiet and you're floating in some kind of strange, gelatinous snot. But then, in blackness, reality begins to change, silence yields to fizzling electronic sound and archaic instruments, elfin white noises pours in subtly, almost too organic and ambient to notice, and then—as you're trapped like a rabbit with its leg in a metal clamp's jaws—the rest of the music thunders in, piano pounding like war drums. It's psyche-folk, but it has a darker edge, something bubbling below the surface like poisonous ground water. People tend to write nature—and naturalist art—as airy fairy hippie shit, which it can be sometimes, but the reality of nature, of the wilderness, is that it's not a place to frolic, luxuriate, and sun yourself; soon as the sun goes down, it can be a hard, cold, dangerous place where there are quiet, menacing things that will kill and eat you without thinking twice. In true nature, you enter earth's life cycle, and your death is nothing but something else's meal. I think Plants' music reflects that, and I like it a lot. Tonight is the band's CD release party for their new record, The Mind is a Bird in the Hand, on the Audio Dregs label. AG
SNAKES, GHOST TO FALCO/ARGUMENTIX COLLABORATION, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) I totally dig locals Snakes because they sound kinda like Type O Negative. Their freakshow steez is dark, gothy, and full of lyrics about severed hands over industrial metal. I haven't seen them live yet, but they sound like heavy, evil fun, like back when you had a crush on that mousy goth chick in ninth grade and tried to blossom up your hair like the Cure but ended up looking like you had a giant, dead spider on your head. Does that make any sense? Y'know what? I DON'T CARE. Heavy evil fun doesn't have to make sense. Put these snakes on a plane and Samuel Jackson would be FUCKED. GM
INVISIBLE ROCKETS, BARK, HIDE, AND HORN, LAST OF THE BLACKSMITHS
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) See Music, pg. 21.
EX-GIRL, THE PUNK GROUP, ENCHANTED 4ST
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Japan's Ex-Girl will descend upon Lola's room like a mothership dropping exploding disco balls. This sci-fi pop trio claim to be from the planet Kero Kero (yes, like the little frog) and look like manga B-52s with their pink beehives and Flintstones slips. But the proof is in their chops. These three ladies rock like Devo, with choreography that Cirque du Soleil could steal a few new moves from. Good times are assured. Local duo the Punk Group are the Laurel & Laurel of the PDX new wave/comedy scene. Monday nights shouldn't be this fun. NATHAN CARSON
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) For the most part, the past decade's teen-girl singing sensations have used Mariah-esque melismas, tawdry jailbait imagery, or both to achieve success. By contrast, Sonya Kitchell, 17, arrived in adult-contemporary territory fully formed. It's apt that she released her debut disc Words Come Back to Me on Starbucks' Hear Music label, because it's easy to imagine Kitchell sipping lattes with grown-ups instead of hanging out at the cool-kids' coffee shop. Kitchell's self-written songs fit her subtly soulful voice and gently jazzy acoustic guitar work. A demure blonde, she possesses the same attractive-yet-asexual stage presence as the sonically similar Norah Jones. ANDREW MILLER
EISLEY, SIMON DAWES, BRIGHTER
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Oh, dudes, listen up: The girls in Eisley are HOT. They're FLY. They're SEXY! And there's THREE OF THEM. All hot, all fly, all sexy, all sisters, and all probably totally underage and totally illegal. They make music too. Kind of. GM
RITCHIE YOUNG, ALI IPPOLITO
(Pix Patisserie, 3901 N Williams) I saw Loch Lomond recently at some benefit PSU was putting on, and was astounded by how good they've gotten, with a powerful, resonant sound that somehow recalls lonely fantasy creatures mourning from the hollows of the earth. Frontman Ritchie Young is, naturally, a large part of said sound. Frequently barefoot in performance, he closes his eyes, rocks back on his heels, and croons in a way that ripples outward, like a humpback whale calling to its brethren. His presence will fill the room at this free show at Pix, much as you will fill your stomach with delicious pastries. JUSTIN W. SANDERS
ALAN SINGLEY AND PANTS MACHINE, PLEASE STEP OUT OF THE VEHICLE, THE RETROFITS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Alan Singley is so full of cheer and love and kindness that he actually named his forthcoming album lovingkindness. Singley sings songs about riding bikes and playing in the park without a hint of snark or irony, and his music is a godsend for the growing hipster parent set: It's cute enough for sing-alongs with the rugrats but filled with enough stoner references to keep the adults amused. Live, Singley resembles a goofy kid performing in a high school talent show, still a little shocked that he made it up on stage and that people are actually watching him. His "orchestra," also known as the Pants Machine and featuring a stand-up bass along with the usual guitars and drums, take this all in stride and back him up with skill and flourish. CORTNEY HARDING
SISSYBOY PRESENTS DOLLY VS. BJÖRK
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 15.
MORBID ANGEL, BEHEMOTH, KRISIUN, DESPISED ICON
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Music, pg. 19.
LUKA BLOOM, SABRINA DINAN
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Luka "the Puka" Bloom is an older guy from Ireland plays James Taylorish, David Grayish folk pop. It's not necessarily something I'm into, but I could see being older, calmer, and whatnot and getting into his stuff while driving my SUV home from Starbucks with my new LL Bean polar fleece rocking like some soccer mom's vanilla-ass husband. (Nobody plans to be boring when they get older; it just seeps in sometimes.) So while I can't get behind this shizz now, I'm not so youthfully (deludedly) faux-immortal that I can't see my(boring)self rocking it someday. One thing I can't hang with is that the cat (stage) named himself after the Suzanne Vega song "Luka." Remember that one? ("My name is Luka/I live on the second floor/I live upstairs from you/yes, I think you've seen me before.") Which is one of the worst things I've ever heard and makes me wanna get crazed on Starbucks mochachinowhatevers and run over his head repeatedly with my giant, new SUV. GM