Up & Coming 

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THURSDAY 10/1

RED BULL SOUND CLASH: THE BUILDERS AND THE BUTCHERS, VIVA VOCE, BUKUE ONE, OHMEGA WATTS

(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week.

THE SHAKY HANDS, PANTHER, JOE VON APPEN, DJ MAGIC BEANS

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See Music.

THE ENGLISH BEAT, THE ISRAELITES

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Ska's second wave emerged from a period of economic crisis. In the late '70s, the UK, like the rest of the West, was de-industrializing and shifting from social democracy to a neo-liberal order. This shift put a lot of pressure on the urban poor, and from this pressure emerged the two-tone sounds of the Specials, the Selector, and the English Beat. Two-tone was not just a fusion of British punk rock and Jamaican ska (the parent of reggae); it was also, and more crucially, a fusion of working-class whites and working-class blacks. In the English Beat, for example, Ranking Roger's toasting channeled the spirit of the new working class (black immigrants from Jamaica) and Dave Wakeling's singing channeled the spirit of the old working class. With this winning combination, the English Beat generated a lot of energy, a lot of excitement that is still with us today. CHARLES MUDEDE Also see portlandmercury.com for an interview with Dave Wakeling from the English Beat.

SIAN ALICE GROUP, MORNING TELEPORTATION, INSIDE VOICES

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Sian Alice Group's second album, Troubled, Shaken Etc., is no less gloomy than their first, but the prolific British group displays a deeper, more fearless sense of experimentation. Gone are the tender moments of beauty and any lingering pop concessions, in favor of a dark, noir-ish mixture of spooky, spindly folk and mind-blown-out shoegaze. Lead singer Sian Ahern moves delicately through her surroundings like a wraith, and while the band's best moments are ones of tribal, near-suffocating intensity, their more subdued material is glacially beautiful. Sian Alice Group is a tough band to wrap your head around, no doubt. But their hypnotic music, if not heartwarming, is always mind expanding and unique. NED LANNAMANN

MIIKE SNOW, JACK PEÑATE

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Swedish production duo Bloodshy and Avant produced "Toxic" by Britney Spears, and now they've teamed with Andrew Wyatt of Fires of Rome to form a new group, dubbed Miike Snow. The band's original songs and remixes display a sense of melancholy melody, a glossed and airbrushed heartache that feels more emotional than Bloodshy and Avant's work, but no less chilly. Miike Snow's high points—like their self-titled debut album's "Animal" or "Song for No One," or the freeway rush of their deconstruction of Vampire Weekend's "The Kids Don't Stand a Chance"—are very good indeed, but a fair amount of the rest of it feels like filler. Opener Jack Peñate is an Englishman whose downbeat, soulful singing casts a shadow over his backing of celebratory world beats, like if Morrissey did a cover of Lionel Richie's "All Night Long." However you feel about that idea should sum up your reaction to Peñate. NL

FRIDAY 10/2

DETHKLOK, MASTODON, CONVERGE, HIGH ON FIRE

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Music.

JEFFREY LEWIS AND THE JUNKYARD, SHILPA RAY, JACK LEWIS AND TWIGS

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) The fast-paced, self-referential Jeffrey Lewis sounds a lot like Kimya Dawson spliced with Arlo Guthrie; social commentaries and personal quips are abundant and, like Dawson, usually go well with acoustic punk melodies. New York provides all the social maladies for Lewis to tackle ("When you feel like a jerk does it make you confused? Like how could you become as awesome as you are and still feel like a loser?"), and, thanks to his comic book prowess (dude wrote his college thesis on Watchmen), Lewis employs hand-drawn illustrations at his shows as well, quickly flipping pages from a sketchbook while keeping with the tempo of a song. All of which makes for some ridiculously charming storytelling. PHILIP GAUDETTE Also see My, What a Busy Week.

DATAROCK, ESSER, KAV

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Norwegian dance-rockers Datarock continue their Talking Heads obsession on their new album, Red, which contains a song—named after the Heads' 1986 film/album True Stories—whose lyrics consist entirely of titles of Talking Heads songs. Someone get these guys a Norwegian/English dictionary, stat! The good news is that their music, while not exactly inventive, is full of tight Devo-ish whipcrack, and they're not dance-slaves to the 4/4, extending phrases to fit the lyrics here, dropping a beat there, making sure that nothing ever falls exactly where you'd expect it. In fact, there's something so unabashedly playful about Datarock that it almost feels like a winking parody of dance music, like a Flight of the Conchords pastiche or something. The end result is, simply, fun; all in all, Datarock are pretty easy to take. NL

MATTRESS, ATOLE, JUNKFACE, E*ROCK

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) After Ian Curtis met his fate at the end of a dangling rope, lesser artists were quick to pick over the bones of Joy Division's remains, and thus a seemingly endless genre was born of dour keyboard lines, overtly dark lyrics, and rigid deep-voiced singers desperately trying to stay in character. At first listen, Mattress comes off as just another in a long line of creatively bankrupt musicians searching for unknown pleasures in the shadow of Curtis. But on the just-released Low Blows, main Mattress-er Rex Marshall breaks from the pack of bottom-feeding electro-popsters and creates a texturally precise and dramatic recording of songs that accentuate his cavernous vocal range, slurring lounge singer delivery, and stark musical backing. It's never an easy—or uplifting—listen, but Marshall seems to take a twisted pride in dragging the listener hand in hand through his dark personal catharsis, proving that, as an artist, he's no mere clone from a bygone era. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

SATURDAY 10/3

BARK 10TH ANNIVERSARY: BLUE CRANES, THE PHYSICAL HEARTS, SUMMER ONO

(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) See My, What a Busy Week.

ALL, MY LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE, THE SQUIDS, NEUTRALBOY

(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) If the words "ALL (No, ALL!)" mean a thing to you—and, really, they should—you've already laid out your old Cruz Records shirt in anticipation for this bizarre one-off show from punk legends All. For those unlucky souls that do not have the words from "She's My Ex" committed to memory, All is essentially the Descendents, sans the far-sighted biochemist behind the mic (Scott Reynolds handles vocals duties tonight). Expect the band to torch through a deep catalog of songs about girls and food—sometimes both—and fill your deep-seated desire for some melodic teenage pop punk from the guys who did it better than anyone else. Ever. EAC

LONEY DEAR, ASOBI SEKSU, ANNA TERNHEIM

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Loney Dear is one Emil Svanängen, and his 2009 album Dear John muddies up his twinkly, cuddly sound—it's no less melodic and the songs still rise like dizzying skyscrapers constructed out of fairy dust, only this time there's a slight, cloudy gray lurking near the rainbows. It suits Svanängen, slightly tarnishing his otherwise perfect pop sheen, the same way fellow Swedes ABBA allowed their marital woes to color their music with emotional gravity. It must be something in the water, or the meatballs: Anna Ternheim (also Swedish) makes great pop songs, filled with regret, humanity, and caution—all strung together with sparkly beats and heartswelling strings. She's like an early-morning Lykke Li, absent the street-rat waifishness and space-cadet art damage; Ternheim's well-groomed songs are coolly, lustrously dramatic. NL

MOTÖRHEAD, REVEREND HORTON HEAT, NASHVILLE PUSSY

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Since forming in 1975, Motörhead have played under the moniker "Loudest Band in the World" (although, technically, Manowar edged them out). Lemmy Kilmister, the band's only continual member, is a celebrated, godlike figure, the father of hard rock and all the genres it made possible. He's also the man responsible for describing their music as "so dirty that if we move in next door to you, your lawn will die." I remind you of these things because no matter how many trashy leather jackets you see with the Motörhead "war-pig" decal on the back, you must never take them for granted. They changed rock forever by making it louder, more crass, and more badass, and Lemmy, for one, is still at it. MARANDA BISH

BITCH, LOVERS, KAIA

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) How do I love Portland group Lovers? Let me count the ways. Carolyn Berk's husky vocals are reminiscent of a mellowed-out Natasha Khan, set to soft strumming guitars and poppy drums. Mixing it up with some random electronics and heart-tugging lyrics full of a not-so-quiet desperation that every teenage lover has felt, this trio has mastered the modern pop ballad in a way that seems authentic and intense, yet never corny. Their delicate tunes will take you back to a time of uncertainty, awkwardness, and unabashed, all-consuming infatuation. THEODORA P. KARATZAS

SUNDAY 10/4

KYLESA, VELNIAS, BISON B.C., IRON LUNG

(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) If the pairing of Georgia sludge-metal progressives Kylesa and Illinois dark-metal regressives Velnias sounds like a mistake, listen to the drums. Kylesa's Static Tensions LP features two competing kits—one for each ear—an anomaly in modern metal, which they bring to each eye live. Beyond this thunderstorm rocks the more intertwined Mastodon-via-Converge vocals and maze-play of Phillip Cope and Laura Pleasants, like punks on Zappa. Velnias march from their lost prairie homeland to a beat predating R&B. Their Sovereign Nocturnal is the rarest of "extreme" albums—slow music, martial meter, knife-on-the-skull black death, sad folk, and the end of civilization in three tracks. It's the night of a different drummer, all right. MIKE MEYER

SLEEPY SUN, ASSEMBLE HEAD IN SUNBURST SOUND, THIS BLINDING LIGHT

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) How do you feel about face-painting and interpretive dance? Sleepy Sun singers Rachael Williams and Bret Constantino are guilty of this. But you know what? Those damn hippies actually make it work. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the band's fucked-up, hard psych gives you a contact high just by being within earshot. The San Francisco sextet is one of the most dynamic live bands working right now, and if you've ever liked the idea of heavy psychedelic rock in theory but not so much in practice, it's time to give Sleepy Sun a listen. Their debut album, Embrace, contains enough tribal thump, Hendrix amplifier wail, Brightblack Morning Light dual vocals, mellow-yellow chill-out interludes, and metal haze to satisfy heshers, psych heads, noodle dancers, indie snobs, noise freaks, and that pale guy who loves Beach House. NL

MONDAY 10/5

THE HORRORS, JAPANESE MOTORS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) What happened to the Horrors? 2007's Strange House was a loud, snarling barrage of arty UK punk rock ("arty" in the gothic-with-platform-shoes-and-makeup sense of the word) that appealed to fans of zombie garage punk and Hot Topic. The hairspray must have touched some brain nerves, because the Horrors have slowed down a bit on Primary Colours, trading in some of their previous noise for something more conventional. Portishead's Geoff Barrow co-produced their latest, and if anything can be linked to the drastic change in their sound, it's Barrow's influence; Colours is synth heavy, a little freaky where it needs to be, and a lot slower, with lead singer Faris Badwan droning on like an Interpol tribute band. Where there once was emotion, now a confusing stew of sound and distorted vocals fill the void. But hey, they still look like vampires, so I guess some things will never change. PG

TUESDAY 10/6

AIMEE MANN, NICK LOWE

(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See My, What a Busy Week. Also see portlandmercury.com for an interview with Nick Lowe.

MINUS THE BEAR, THROW ME THE STATUE

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) When most of their peers are running on fumes or have long since been relegated to the unceremonious trash heap of splintered bands, Minus the Bear has entered a serious stage of productivity and acclaim that propels them far ahead of fellow acts from the post-punk scene. Originally saddled with the emo tag—there are countless elements to their technically precise sound, but overt emotionalism is not one of them—the Seattle act has emerged as a band talented enough to hold it down with the big boys (they played on the Blazers' home court last year, touring with the Foo Fighters) while remaining loyal to their DIY roots. Their new single—in both handy digital and collectable 7-inch forms—won't be out until the end of this month, but if you ask nicely perhaps they'll give you a peek from their forthcoming album which was produced by a man with a Grammy on his mantel, Joe Chiccarelli (My Morning Jacket, the White Stripes, Kajagoogoo). EAC

MUTE MATH, AS TALL AS LIONS

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Mute Math are a New Orleans synth rock quartet with roots in the Christian music world. In 2005, they won a Dove Award (the Jesus-y version of the Grammy) for Best Modern Rock Song for "Control." In 2008, they were nominated for a Grammy (the regular version of the Grammy) for Best Video for the clip "Typical," a backward-running bit that owes everything to Spike Jonze and the Pharcyde's superior-in-every-way 1996 video "Drop." But I guess honoring weak rehashes 12 years too late is what the Grammys do best. Dubious awards and religious affiliations aside, though, how is Mute Math's music? God-fucking-awful—schmaltzy, whining, over-glossed pop rock not nearly saved by its slight traces of rhythmic tension or its lead singer's keytar. The more Mute the better. ERIC GRANDY

WEDNESDAY 10/7

BOB DYLAN

(Memorial Coliseum, 300 Winning Way) See My, What a Busy Week.

SHELLEY SHORT, GLEN MOORE, THE GOLDEN BEARS

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music.

JOLIE HOLLAND, MICHAEL HURLEY

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Jolie Holland's voice has spawned a thousand imitators. At once both old-fashioned and modern, the singer/songwriter was way ahead of all the would-be soulful cowgirls you see walking down Hawthorne in a pair of boots and carrying a guitar. Ever since 2003's Catalpa (not much more than a collection of home recordings) saw her nominated for a Short List Prize, Holland has perfected sounding timeless. A lot of girls try to sing like her; not many can. BART SCHANEMAN

POLVO, LITTLE CLAW, HUNGRY GHOST

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Hung prominently in my teenage bedroom in the mid-'90s was a big blue poster pinched from a show Polvo played with Pavement. Though Pavement cemented their lasting place in the pop music canon, public memory of Chapel Hill, North Carolina's Polvo—one of the most innovative and interesting bands of the golden era of guitar-based indie rock—seemed to slip away like so much eponymous dust. Mercifully, 10 years after disbanding, Polvo reformed late last year, playing a handful of dates, including a triumphant set at MusicfestNW that not only proved the undiminished relevance of their back catalog, but also tantalizingly pointed to the future with the inclusion of a handful of fantastic new songs. This seed of hope yielded fruit this September as Polvo released In Prisms on Merge Records, an album of new material bearing the band's signature serpentine guitar lines, unpredictable rhythms, Asiatic melodies, and watery textures that can stand without slouching next to their '90s work. Polvo's is a reunion done right—respectful of but not mired in the past, and a second chance for the world of independent music to realize the ongoing greatness of one of its most underappreciated bands. CARY CLARKE

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