THURSDAY 4/2

WES & EUGENE'S CABINET OF WONDERS: JOHN WESLEY HARDING, EUGENE MIRMAN, LUCY WAINWRIGHT ROCHE

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) See My, What a Busy Week! and Music.

LIL WAYNE, GYM CLASS HEROES, KERI HILSON

(Rose Garden, 1 Center Ct) See My, What a Busy Week! and Music.

LAURA GIBSON, PORTLAND CELLO PROJECT, AH HOLLY FAM'LY

(The Old Church, 1422 SW 11th) See Music.

GUIDANCE COUNSELOR, WHAT'S UP?, RELIGIOUS GIRLS

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) See Our Town Could Be Your Life.

CHAD VANGAALEN, WOMEN, PLANTS

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Chad VanGaalen is a reclusive and prolific singer/songwriter (and an accomplished doodler and animator—that's his colorful handiwork on the cover of recent album Soft Airplane) from Calgary, Alberta, whose 2004 breakthrough Infiniheart landed him on the Sub Pop label here in the States. With good reason: VanGaalen's homemade indie rock is as carefully crafted as it is deceptively childlike, as weird and personal as it is immediately catchy. His vocal style has earned him not-off-the-mark comparisons to Neil Young, but he's no simple revivalist or classic rock purist—Airplane boasts as much fuzzy noise, fucked-up drum machines, and glitchy synths as it does simple acoustic laments. Openers Women sometimes play their songs straight, but more often hide their melodies in layers of rhythm and reverb and ambient noise; VanGaalen recorded and provided additional instrumentation for their self-titled debut. ERIC GRANDY

CHORES , LESSER LEWIS & THE TWIGS

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) When Lou Thomas isn't whispering with pillow-folkers A Weather, he's kicking out the jams with Chores, a brash, crashing quartet whose debut full-length, The Subtle Politics of the Public Hammock, has just been released on Portland's Field Hymns record label. Co-frontwoman Jada Pierce dominates the album with a voice made for rock 'n' roll—a yowl that's even better than Karen O's. "New New Deal" is a midtempo boiler of a song, with high-pitched guitar and wayward sax creating a traffic jam of woozy sound, and "Super Car" is a rocket-fire barnburner that pairs a succinct metal riff with post-punk bruising. It sounds like Lodger/Scary Monsters-era Bowie crossed with Sonic Youth at their most caffeinated, with a sprinkle of gentle cow-pasture country rock on songs like "Familiar Order." I'm sure the last thing you want to hear is that there's yet another local band you need to listen to and cherish, but Chores make music that you're going to want to make room in your life for. NED LANNAMANN

FRIDAY 4/3

QUASI, LITTLE CLAW

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) See My, What a Busy Week!

BLUE GIANT, BLUE SKIES FOR BLACK HEARTS , BLUE HORNS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) It's Blue Friday! A triptych of local bands whose names all begin with the word "blue" fight to the death in a three-way cage match! Not really. Blue Giant are the other project of Viva Voce's Kevin and Anita Robinson, with a country-influenced sound and a penchant for banjo-picking and classic rock chestnuts; now that Viva Voce is back in full swing, you'll have to keep careful track of both bands. Blue Skies for Black Hearts, meanwhile, also have a bit of a '60s fetish, but instead of The Notorious Byrd Brothers, they've got The Who Sings My Generation and the Action's Rolled Gold on the turntable. Blue Horns, on the other hand, play an Oregon-grown version of jerky, jangly post-punk, like Television or the Talking Heads if they ever fled Manhattan and spent a summer lazing by the Sandy River. Any one of these bands could do a dynamite left-field cover of "Blue Monday" or even "Blue Moon," but each band has enough of their own excellent songs to render any cover unnecessary. NL

PRE, THE MAE SHI, FIST FITE

(East End, 203 SE Grand) Vinyl fetishists and comic book nerds unite: British no-wavers Pre are touring the States in support of an unauthorized double 7-inch AC/DC tribute nestled in an equally unauthorized Hulk vs. Aliens comic book. Sides 11-14 is the latest edition of a below-radar Skin Graft series that began in 1996 with Steve Albini's Shellac doing a staccato-tortured (but faithfully hard-rocking) "Jailbreak." ("He made it out all right/With a bullet in his back.") Pre play "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap" by the book—while underwater and on fire, somehow. Imagine Yeah Yeah Yeahs if they had kept digging corpses from the Lower East Side '70s; lead vocalist Akiko Matsuura even looks the part of Karen O. And be ready to pirate Black Ice. You'll need it to cool down. MIKE MEYER

POINT JUNCTURE, WA , WORLD'S GREATEST GHOSTS, ALAN SINGLEY & PANTS MACHINE

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Sure, good things are supposed to happen to good people, but really, how often does that actually happen? Well, it has happened to the good souls of Point Juncture, WA. The band labored for a lifetime on the self-released Heart to Elk, only for the record to take hold of just about anyone who gave it a fair listen. Point Juncture have now landed a record label (Seattle's Mt. Fuji Records) that's re-released Heart to Elk, plus a coveted spot at the Sasquatch music festival, and are currently loading up the cooler with vegan meals (singer/drummer Amanda Spring packs her own before every tour) and heading out on the road to support the Thermals. Somehow knowing that all of this has happened has made the world a better place. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

RED FANG , SCHOOL OF ROCK, MONGOLOID VILLAGE , RAPIDS

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) I'll give Portland's doom-du-jour Red Fang this much: It takes a special band to make a critic ask more questions of himself than of a new record. Red Fang's eponymous debut on the Sargent House label isn't just any album; it's the resting place of "Prehistoric Dog," the retro-Sabbath basher made beloved by local videographer Whitey McConnaughy. You know it from YouTube: burly dudes guzzle beer, make Tecate-can armor, fight D&D nerds. Boston Terrier cameo! (Precious, perfect, etc.) It's also symptomatic of an illiberal indie community that only accepts heavy metal as a nascent throwback. Recommended if you like the Sword and Chuck Klosterman. MM

DREDG, TORCHE, FROM MONUMENT TO MASSES

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Torche's 2008 album Meanderthal might not quite reach the heights of the Miami quartet's 2005 self-titled debut—a swirling behemoth of triumphant, fuzzed-out riffs, crushing drums, and anthemic vocal work—but it comes damn close. Cuts like "Triumph of Venus" and the 35-second intro "Little Champion" show the band employing tighter, faster guitar sections, while songs like "Fat Waves" and the title track hearken back to the dynamic, sweeping crescendos and transitions of the first full-length. Torche succeed in making heavy metal that doesn't sound at all dark or bleak; rather, quite the opposite, and the buzzing, thunderous compositions are a refreshing alternative to the doom-laden aesthetic deployed by many of the band's peers. Expect this show to be downright glorious, in a tinnitus-inducing way. GRANT BRISSEY

SATURDAY 4/4

THE STALKERS, THE NICE BOYS, THE EEGOS

(East End, 203 SE Grand) See My, What a Busy Week!

MIRAH, NORFOLK & WESTERN, TARA JANE O'NEIL

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See Music,

WHITE DENIM, THE SHAKY HANDS, SIGMUND HENRY, SWIM SWAM SWUM

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music.

ANCHOR DOWN, SPLITZVILLE, BITCHIN' SUMMER, NECKTIES MAKE ME NERVOUS

(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) As dudes in band T-shirts, robust beards, and who play songs titled "Bromancing the Stones" (Jack T. Colton does not approve), Anchor Down might not be winning over anyone outside the testosterone-soaked dude rock circuit when it comes to first impressions. But for all those floored by Gaslight Anthem's flawless The '59 Sound—or for anyone who can scream Hot Water Music's "Turnstile" until your throat is as coarse as Chuck Ragan's—welcome to your next musical obsession. Anchor Down are well versed in Gainesville punk rock—vocal chords are punished with great regularity—yet still bring plenty of Pacific Northwest grit to their brand-new EP Steel to Dust. Dudes, just keep your bromance off my precious stones, okay? EAC

SUNDAY 4/5

GROUPER, TINY VIPERS

(Rontoms, 600 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!

JASON ISBELL & THE 400 UNIT, JUSTIN TOWNES EARLE

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Most divorcés end up a shell of themselves—living alone in the Bachelor Arms apartment complex with partial custody of their former lives—but Jason Isbell's split from the Drive-By Truckers, and ex-wife/bassist Shonna Tucker, has been a smooth transition for the Muscle Shoals resident. The DBTs are still churning out expansive Southern rock songs, but they just aren't the same without Isbell, who has moved on with backing band the 400 Unit. Touring in support of the ensemble's latest self-titled release, Isbell's gift for writing enthralling tales of frayed blue-collar life (the deceased soldier in "Dress Blues," the good intentions leading to bad results of "Good") has never been more refined. My only fear in this world is that the album's closer, "The Last Song I Will Write," will be a self-fulfilling prophecy. EAC

ACID MOTHERS TEMPLE, SONIC SUICIDE SQUAD, KINSKI, DJ NATE C

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Acid Mothers Temple's music is often absurdly excessive. The Japanese group—led by ex-Mainliner member Kawabata Makoto—primarily occupy the psych-rock spectrum's noisiest node, where the MC5's Kick out the Jams, Blue Cheer's Vincebus Eruptum, and side two of the Stooges' Fun House exist. But they write some incredibly delicate, courtly songs in the French troubadour tradition and show an affinity for beautiful interstellar lullabies, too. Their catalog also includes a tremendous tribute to Terry Riley's minimalist classic In C. Live, however, AMT lean toward the Cosmic Inferno—an occasional appendage to their usual moniker—side of their multiple personalities. When they assume full-on nuclear-war mode, your senses will cry and spasm with overwhelming intensity. It's no fluke that one of their best albums—out of several dozen—is titled Absolutely Freak Out (Zap Your Mind!!). DAVE SEGAL

SCOTT PINKMOUNTAIN & THE GOLDEN BOLTS OF TONE, ROLLERBALL, RICKSHAW

(The Goodfoot, 2845 SE Stark) Pink breakdown: Scott Pinkmountain is not a member of the band Pink Mountaintops, nor is he a resident of the Pink Mountain in British Columbia. He is Scott Rosenberg, a player in Pink Mountain—the avant-garde supergroup that just so happens to feature Portland's Sam Coomes, among others—and a solo artist based in Oakland with a wonderful psychedelic recording, The Full Sun, under his belt. It's a inventive and rambling album that highlights Rosenberg's avant leanings without ever shedding his vivid pop sensibilities. Good luck matching his ambition: Rosenberg gathered over 60 musicians for The Full Sun, which gracefully crams a lifetime of music—from experimental blasts of free jazz sax skronk to the hazy jangle of burned-out late-'60s rock—into one complete recording. EAC

MONDAY 4/6

JJ CALE, CALEB KLAUDER

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) JJ Cale seems an icon of something, but what exactly? Yes, his music is laidback. And he's managed one of the most natural integrations of rock, blues, and jazz in an oeuvre that includes signature tunes "Cocaine" and "After Midnight." But if JJ Cale signifies anything now—with a lifetime's worth of fame-thwarting moves woven through his patchy resume—it has to be anti-stardom. JJ Cale is an icon of nothing, but a siren of the tense relationship between celebrity and those musicians who just couldn't be bothered by it. ANDREW STOUT

TUESDAY 4/7

MARK OLSON & GARY LOURIS, TEDDY THOMPSON

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Band genealogy gets mighty confusing when musicians act like civilized adults and maintain their friendships after a breakup. Mark Olson left the Jayhawks back in 1995, and Gary Louris carried on the brand name without him for three more albums. But after 2003's Rainy Day Music, the Jayhawks were more or less put on ice, and now Louris and Olson have reunited not as the Jayhawks but under their own names. Their album as a duo, surprisingly produced by the Black Crowes' Chris Robinson, is a gentle acoustic affair, but it's still grittier than anything the Jayhawks put out in their final years, with muddy folk-pickin' and swampy Americana being the name of the game. It's the most vital work either of them has done since parting ways. Also on the bill is Teddy Thompson, son of Richard and Linda, who's blessed with an amazing voice and a hit-and-miss track record of material. NL

WEDNESDAY 4/8

MECCA NORMAL, TOM GREENWOOD, MAGIC JOHNSON

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

ASTRONAUTALIS, CARS & TRAINS, BLEUBIRD, GAVIN CASTLETON

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Astronautalis and Portland have not had the best relationship. There was that Conan's show where the razorblade-throated emcee was drowned out by frat boys at a pool table, a few nights at Berbati's where there were more tumbleweeds than people, and I won't even mention that evening at the Viper Room (that deceased faux strip club on Hawthorne, not the bar in Los Angeles where River Phoenix crossed on over to the other side). But before the indie-kid-turned-rapid-fire-emcee swore off Stumptown for good, there was the Artistery. At Astronautalis' most recent show in town, the Artistery was packed with people—actual human people!—finally giving some just due to an artist who joyfully dismantles the foundation of hiphop, all the while laying claim to being one of the finest freestylers this side of Scribble Jam. Keep it up, Portland. EAC

JEREMY JAY, FUTURE HISTORIANS, DAFFODILS

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Synthesizers have a lot in common with saxophones in that both instruments can completely suck all the passion out of a song and render it a soulless mockery of human emotion. More power to Jeremy Jay, then: He can take a song riddled with synth—even great, catchy, complex synth work like that of bandmate Ilya Malinsky—and make it more than an A Flock of Seagulls parody. The secret, I think, is in Jay's voice: He has a cool, dispassionate delivery that somehow, Vashti Bunyan-like, manages to convey more emotion than 1,000 screamo freaks. PAUL CONSTANT

HEADLIGHTS, THE LOVE LANGUAGE

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Headlights is the kind of band that is easy to adore, with breezy, romantic, lost-in-time pop songs that never become overly precious. They recorded their second album, Some Racing, Some Stopping, in an old farmhouse outside their hometown of Champaign, Illinois, but instead of channeling the creaky floorboards and yellowed, peeling wallpaper, they dug up a fresh-smelling, sun-dappled slice of Brill Building pop. Whatever musty old ghosts were lurking around the farmhouse are relegated to the odd echoing backing vocal and occasional twinkling music box. Headlights have just released a limited-edition remix album, with remixes by the likes of Casiotone for the Painfully Alone and the Album Leaf, but despite Headlights' songs being cloaked in the trappings of others, rest assured that melodic brightness pokes its head through on every track. NL