(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) When I was young and in college, I never dreamed of getting breast implants, like other girls. No sir! I wanted ASS implants. See, I went to school in Detroit, and back then ghettotech ruled all the best dance parties. I would only DREAM of dancing the way girls at those parties could. I haven't really thought of it much since moving to the Northwest—not until I saw Big "Queen Diva" Freedia at MusicfestNW this year. Holy shit! A friend from New Orleans had been sending me YouTube videos, but I had no idea that this entire movement—New Orleans Bounce—was happening. Some people think it's new, but Freedia, along with Katey Red and Freedia's "daughter," Sissy Nobby, have been ruling NOLA's dance parties since the late '80s. Similar to ghettotech, bounce is a high-energy, booty-centric call of the wild(est). Better than ghettotech, bounce is gay-friendly. (But stop calling it "sissy bounce"—sayeth Freedia in a recent Fader interview, "It's just 'bounce music' in New Orleans, you may have a gay rapper, but you have straight rappers too.") Gay or straight, it's time t'shake those hips like BATTLESHIPS! KELLY O


(Secret Society Ballroom, 116 NE Russell) Tonight's show sees Will West and the Friendly Strangers sending Take This Moment... out into the world, a new full-length boasting West's trademark acoustic songwriting. Originally from North Carolina, the Portland resident has miles of American road under his belt—including some of the blander, strip-mall aspects, like the Jack Johnson shuffle of "Falling," from the new record. But there's also fine stuff like the delicate "In a Dream," which contains an old-time country gospel feel. And there's the hollow-log swamp of "Banjo Groove" and the lilting bluegrass and call-and-response of "Everytime." The Friendly Strangers are a formidable ensemble, boasting fiddles and banjos and mandolins, all guided by West's casual ringleading. NED LANNAMANN


(East End, 203 SE Grand) Thee Oh Sees are undeniably one of the best American bands going now, and they always bring the infernal heat live. What I wrote about them the last time they came through still applies: "Leader John Dwyer elevates the band above most in the genre with songwriting chops that somehow find limber, lubricious ways to invert garage rock's creaky tropes." Oakland's Bare Wires are not quite as challenging or as exhilarating as their billmates, but they apply an endearing neo-glam glaze to garage rock's well-worn machinations. DAVE SEGAL

Stornoway, the Greenhornes, and DJ Rob Swift, as well as a link to the complete show listings, after the jump.


(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Stornoway feel like a Portland craft fair. They're little pastel woolen mittens and found art and things for your bike with animals painted on. They're earthy and positive and cute—twee, really. And totally Britpop. The Oxford foursome are named after a small town in Scotland—a place I've always considered somewhat Oregonesque in its green, wet, depressed seasonal way. Stornoway's breathy, heartfelt, and folky bubblegum treads the usual travails of love and loss, as does all good Britpop. But they also wander off the beaten pathway into more green and fertile fields. "The Battery Human," a plucky banjo footstomper about life away from the grid, could be a potential theme song for Pickathon's barn shows. And on cold winter nights like these, a burst of golden pop and a crisp view of rich, fertile rolling hills becomes that much more welcome and warming. ANDREW R TONRY


(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) In the '60s, garage bands weren't just thrashing out razor-sharp proto-punk and dumbbell trash rock; a lot of the white American bands that popped up in the wake of the British Invasion did what their English counterparts were doing, performing covers of the soul and R&B hits coming out of Detroit and Memphis. That's what separates Cincinnati's Greenhornes from the rest of the modern-day garage rock revival—their songs could, with drastically different arrangements and a little bit of imagination, very well be Motown hits. This infusion of soul, into what is otherwise a genre saturated with paisley-psych retrofitting and white-punk posturing, puts the Greenhornes at the forefront of the garage scene, with an airtight repertoire. They've been on hiatus for the last five years—you might recognize bassist Jack Lawrence and drummer Patrick Keeler as one-half of the Raconteurs, but they've made a welcome reunion with guitarist/vocalist Craig Fox (who's a better songwriter than Jack White, if you must know the truth) and put out Four Stars, a strong new batch of songs on White's Third Man label. NED LANNAMANN


(Up Front Bar and Grill, 833 SW Naito) Rob Swift is a dazzling NYC turntablist whose peak moment of fame occurred between the end of the '90s and the beginning of the '00s, as the most visible member of a turntable quartet called the X-Ecutioners. Agreed, that name is horrible, and may have been behind the crew's decline and dissolution. Its earlier name was the X-Men. Marvel Comics, however, put an end to that. And after the name change, the crew was never the same. (It's worth thinking about all this in the light of They Live!'s unfortunate change to Mash Hall.) Anyway, anyone who has watched Rob Swift knows the man is massive on the wheels of steel. CHARLES MUDEDE

Complete show listings can be viewed here.