Up & Coming 

THURSDAY 10/5

PATTERN IS MOVEMENT, GRAHAM MACRAE, WILLIAM HOLLEY, RICCI SWIFT

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Local chap William Holley (real name's Nathan) gives a laidback, jazzy show that recalls M. Ward, John Fahey's solo guitar excursions, and perhumps a li'l Ry Cooder. It's finger-picked folk (or blues sans any rustic elements) with lots of chime-y delay and lots of whisper/half-croon vocals. First time I saw dude play I was all, "dude looks like Courtney Taylor-Taylor-Taylor-Taylor-etc," but, heartthrob that he is, Nathan/WH smokes that buster with classy folk magic. That's it. That's the kid's genre from here on out: classy folk magic. Feel free to abbreviate it as "CFM." GRANT MORRIS

ART BRUT, WE ARE SCIENTISTS, THE SPINTO BAND

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Remember We Are Scientists? They hail from the far-away past that is known as Maybe Six Months to a Year Ago? I sort of remember them. There are three reasons for this: First, their big album was called With Love and Squalor, and any album that references J.D. Salinger is A-OK by me. (Okay, fine, unless the band's like "Adolph & the Chicks from The View" or something. But otherwise, yes: A-OK.) Second, Akiva Schaffer—one-time member of the hilarious internet comedy group the Lonely Island and current writer for the not-so-hilarious Saturday Night Live—directed some of their videos, which are pretty funny. And third, there are some fantastic goddamn guitars and drums on With Love and Squalor, sharp and prickly and catchy, riffs that imbue this indierock trio with a verve and vigor that's otherwise lacking in the genre. But alas, said riffs are kind of forgettable, just as We Are Scientists kind of are, and seeing as how it's really easy to just YouTube "'Akiva Schaffer' + 'We Are Scientists'," there's no real reason to (A) hold on to their album or (B) go to this show. ERIK HENRIKSEN

SWALLOWS

(Hovercraft, 328 NW Broadway, #114) See Music, pg. 21.

PINK MOUNTAINTOPS, THE UPSIDEDOWN, THE SUN THE SEA

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Stephen McBean's beard flows long and thick and gnarly. It's a prospector's beard and his voice is a prospector's voice. Pink Mountaintops (McBean's Black Mountain side project) is old folk done up with modern lyrical subjects and modern musical angles. Lead guitars hiss out with snaky reverb shakes. Bass and acoustic guitars rumble along the highway Southern rock-style (Canned Heat?). Vocals (with lyrics about sex and the devil) sigh and drawl and get all smoky and confident when we most need it. But soon as you get in that particular vibe, we're thrown electro beats and distorted compressed vocals. It's a wide and varied experience. Axis of Evol is the record. Jagjaguwar is the label. ADAM GNADE

VISION + HEARING 2 W/STRATEGY, UN­­RECOG­NIZABLE NOW, FLORA, DEELAY CEELAY

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.

WOLVES IN THE THRONE ROOM, MIDDIAN, ALDEBARAN, TOWERS

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, pg. 23.

FRIDAY 10/6

ETERNAL TAPESTRY, DARK PRIEST, ILYAS AHMED

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) The delay pedal has surfaced as the turntable of our modern musical age. Whereas once it was an effect intended to color the instruments in the foreground, now it is being utilized as the focal point of the signal chain. Guitars, drums, vocals, and such merely feed it waveforms to chew on and manipulate. So, just as many a horrible DJ had to be endured, there are plenty of novices tackling this new toy with unfettered zeal. On the flipside, though, occasionally we are treated to a musician who can transform these circuit boards and solder points into a conduit of expression and wonder. Eternal Tapestry employs a few veterans who've had their callous paws on the knobs for a good long while. Though they still appear to raise hell within the rock recipe, do not be deceived by the guitar and drums setup. The delay pedal is at center stage on the mesa, and these fellows are fearlessly wielding about three or four or them. O.RYNE WARNER

NORTH MISSISSIPPI ALLSTARS W/LUCAS REYNOLDS

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) North Mississippi Allstars boast unimpeachable bloodlines (brothers Luther and Cody Dickinson carry DNA from legendary Memphis producer dad Jim), geographical cred (see band name), and the respect of unfuckwithable bluesmen (RL Burnside, Junior Kimbrough, Othar Turner, etc.). They turn these auspicious elements into gutsy, propulsive blues rock that's less unhinged than, say, Jon Spencer's brand of it, but they compensate with instrumental virtuosity, passion, and songwriting hooks steeped in the tradition without coming over all museum-y about it. DAVE SEGAL

JEDI MIND TRICKS, RA THE RUGGED MAN, OUTER SPACE

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Some of the real Jedi mind tricks that this New York hiphop duo probably won't perform tonight: persuading Bib Fortuna to grant them an audience with Jabba the Hutt; convincing Imperial Stormtroopers to allow them through a checkpoint with C-3PO and R2-D2 in tow; talking a guy into selling them a dragonmount; convincing Elan Sleazebaggano to go home and rethink his life, rather than selling them a death stick. CHAS BOWIE

THE PLOT TO BLOW UP THE EIFFEL TOWER, JONNY X & THE GROADIES, BLOWUPNIHILIST, I AM THE TORMENTOR

(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) See Once More with Feeling, pg. 41.

SATURDAY 10/7

THE LIBERATORS, ANYA MARINA

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Like, I totally despise usin' the word "sultry," but California girl Anya Marina has a sultry voice. It's sexy, low, soft, but never girly girlish. In fact it's kinda like Liz Phair back before Liz Phair wore granny panties and was an AARP newsletter subscriber—back when she had BITE. (She also makes me think of a non-weird, non-punk Kimya Dawson.) Tonight, Marina plays an early show at Mississippi Studios with the Liberators. GM

DAVIS HOOKER, BIRD BY SNOW, MISE EN ABYME, SPENCER OWEN

(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) Central Cali's Bird by Snow is Fletcher Tucker and Co. creating beautifully ornate (in an analog sort of way) folk that verges just enough into reggae and new age to give it a nice stoned shuffle, but not far enough for the anti-hippie police to bare their talons (I'm a card-carrying member.) Songs shamble along with brushed drums, piano, and light touch guitar. Part Sufjan Stevens, part Acre, this is some seriously trippy stuff. I won't advocate the use of any pharmaceuticals, but if you're in the mood to partake before this show, then you know what to do. BRENT RICHARDSON

OAKLEY HALL, WOODEN NICKLE, WHALE BONES

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Oakley Hall's Gypsum Strings came out earlier this year on Oneida's Brah Records. Do you think Oneida would sanction the release of a weak album? Hell no. Oneida's impeccable taste is evidenced by Gypsum Strings' righteousness. A close listen reveals that OH have spent years studying Kraut-rock masters' motorik rhythms, only to hitch 'em unexpectedly to the kind of flammable country psyche that made America the envy of heads in the '60s. If you ever wondered what Neu! jamming with Royal Trux in Moby Grape's tour van would sound like, then I salute your strange thought patterns. You will also dig Oakley Hall. DS

SUNDAY 10/8

LUCERO, ROCKY VOTOLATO, WILLIAM ELLIOT WHITMORE

(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) Lucero's frontman, Ben Nichols, does more than wear his heart on his sleeve—he sings songs that perfectly portray the pathetic state of an utterly broken heart with such unabashed honesty that you often feel the need to start drinking yourself. His voice is worn like a man who's survived a hard life on whiskey and cigarettes, and Lucero's country-tinged indierock can be somber, brash, and beautiful. Opener Rocky Votolato's work boasts the same kind of honesty, but his softer and gorgeous delivery is a nice yin to Lucero's yang. MEGAN SELING

METHOD MAN, SAIGON, DJ OG ONE

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) I firmly believe that if it hadn't been for Method Man, the Wu-Tang Clan wouldn't have caught on nearly as big as they did in the mid '90s. When Mef got on the mic, each song took an enormous breather, slid into the closest approximation of "fun" that the RZA would allow, bounced for 16 bars, and then dropped back into straight Shaolin thuggery. Method Man acted as the bridge between the listener-friendly rap that audiences were accustomed to and the raw, killer-bee shit that Wu-Tang pioneered. Then Mef's debut album positively blew up the winter months of '94, and a hiphop classic was born. It would be nice if time had stopped then, as Method Man would likely be considered one of the all-time greats. But life rolls on, and bad albums get made, and that brings us to the present, and to Method Man's 4:21... The Day After, which is... you know... not even worth beating up on. It would be like sneaking up on Muhammad Ali today and smacking him in the back of the head. Just let the man do his thing. CB

MONDAY 10/9

ISLE HYMNAL, FLASPAR

(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) What happens when you stay up all night and watch the opening scene of Rockers over and over again? If you say, get together with a few of your super-talented friends and start a new band, you win the money. Isle Hymnal began in the early morning hours when three musicians sat down to discuss the motivation behind the Rockers intro—a philosophy of being joyful, positive, rhythmic, and instinctive—a philosophy that this trio would adopt as their own. Focusing mostly on the use of percussive instrumentation, Isle Hymnal is an improvisational band that steers clear of dark overtones and negative sound. One of their goals is to play and sing, improvising shouts of glee and tones of joy. This concept seems incredible—their goal is to have fun and create a sense of community through their raucous improvisations. So often, the trend has been for improvisational artists to "appear" introspective, and at times, this can isolate a listener. Who is down for uptight? Not me. Isle Hymnals is going to be clearing the smoke over at Tube tonight with a bit of jubilation—what a breath of fresh air! SALINA NUÑEZ

ETTRICK, GHOSTING

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) In a perfect world (not this one), there would be a Ghosting radio station that would broadcast across the land the deep-down ambient joy. It would be commercial free, free of endless repeats, and geared towards those in need of a little cranial readjustment—which is something along the lines of: (A) Sit down somewhere dark and quiet. (B) Put the biggest headphones on Earth around your ears. (C) Stare out the window into the angles and lines of that big, old black walnut tree in your backyard and be carried off into right-feeling moods with long, steady drones, pulsating "on-noises," and crazy percussion peyote-scapes. AG

TUESDAY 10/10

THE BE GOOD TANYAS, ANA EGGE

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.

LEBANON, MUSTAPHAMOND, PRIZE COUNTRY

(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) I knew this kid once named Mustapha and his afro was tall and wide and reached up near to the sky. I can't help but think of him when I hear Mustaphamond's tall, wide, skywards rock. They play long—long—creations that walk through metal and jazz and post-rock and noise, dropping all sorts of improv joy and spirited, steely-gray, Portland-specific heaviness. Listening to them, I'm reminded of the reasons Mogwai lets me down (and Mustaphamond doesn't) and about Physics (the band), Hendrix's Band of Gypsys at full auto assault, and the last house I lived in that played Yume Bitsu on endlessly ash-toned mornings. If you consider yourself a good Portlander, you need to know this band. AG

THE HOSPITALS, HAIKU AMBULANCE

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Sometimes the sheer bulk of Load Records' releases makes me a little numb to them. So much to keep up with, try and absorb, and come to some kind of fan consensus on. Amid this killer-bee swarm, it's easy to get overwhelmed and lose track of the truly great Load bands. San Francisco's the Hospitals are the band I'm speaking of, and they pulverize, blend (as in "er"), and crash through some of the most invigorating, funny, grueling noise adventures put to tape. Locals Haiku Ambulance are quite possibly the best band that could've been booked on this bill. AG

WEDNESDAY 10/11

MONSTERS OF MAYHEM W/HATEBREED, THE BLACK DAHLIA MURDER, NAPALM DEATH, EXODUS, DESPISED ICON, FIRST BLOOD

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Man, I'm gonna lose my voice. How many times do I have to say it? Napalm Death are the fathers of grindcore. They don't deserve to be subordinated to the shamelessly self-promoting, Hot Topic sell-out, Pantera-rip-off band Hatebreed. Nor should they be supporting the Black Dahlia Murder, whose riffs, like their name, are a little lacking in originality. Napalm Death salvaged punk as it degenerated into the endless whining of dirty white boys with bad haircuts. They stayed the course as perms and cucumbers infiltrated the metal legions. How short the memory of man. Napalm Death are the Alpha! The first! Walking, talking Metal Cro-Magnon! While the less virtuous have fallen by the waysides of corporate agendas and merchandise whoring, Napalm Death have marched the righteous path. Their latest record, Smear Campaign, is a salvo of songs that burn like white phosphorus, or maybe napalm. Attend and pay homage! THADDEUS CHRISTIAN

SMEGMA, GROUPER, THEE SCARCITY OF TANKS, HEALTH

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Portland is not short of ethereal, chanting ambient bands at the moment and I say Bra-fucking-vo. Grouper is all celestial being vocals, muffled rumbles of electronic thunder, and high-grade medicinal noise waves. This is headphone music so much so that your headphones themselves have their own pair of bigger headphones and they put 'em on, crank up some Grouper, and get lost in the clouds. Ever been lost in the clouds? This'll do it. AG

CHRIS BROWN, NE-YO

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Things I know about Chris Brown and Ne-Yo: (1) My 11-year-old neighbors won't quit bugging me to take them to this show. (2) It ain't gonna happen. (3) At the enormous Jammin 95.5 Bomb concert last May, Ne-Yo's set was the only time I felt boredom. (4) Ne-Yo will never be seen without a baseball cap, thanks to his premature male pattern baldness. (Thanks, Twist magazine!) (5) Chris Brown has the most boring name in music today. CB

BENEFIT FOR JEFFREY WONDERFUL W/DIAMOND TUCK AND THE PRIVATES, THE WEAKLINGS

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) It's more than a little disturbing how frequently there are benefit shows for members of our community who are partially without insurance, heartwarming though it may be that people rally for each other. Tonight's ailing soul is Jeffrey Wonderful, locally renowned for such rock 'n' roll credentials as instigating the Rose City Rollers. Lend him a hand along with the Weaklings, known for their wild antics, and the sleazy, sex-obsessed Diamond Tuck. Plus you'll find the Rollers themselves, a male slave auction of beefy local celebrities, Jell-O wrestling, a silent auction, and a Jeffrey Wonderful look-alike contest—all in one extremely stimulating night. And with a ticket price of $5, it's hard to tell who's really doing whom a favor. MARJORIE SKINNER

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