(It's a long one, watch out)

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Read our article on Spiritualized.

(Bunk Bar, 1028 SE Water) Hospitality are a decidedly New York band, but some Pacific Northwest magic has nevertheless made its way in their purposeful, methodical pop. The band recorded its first EP with the help of Anacortes sound mage Karl Blau, and Blau's indirect, sidling way of approaching a song's pop-candy center is echoed in Hospitality's obtusely inventive catchiness. Their self-titled debut full-length, out on Merge, is a wonderful, gangly listen, and the band's live show is taut, tense, and no-frills. You can clearly see those moonlit, full-of-promise New York streets in each of songwriter Amber Papini's songs, which are good enough and universal enough that they could just as easily be similarly hopeful streets in Glasgow or Minneapolis or Rome—or Portland, of course. NED LANNAMANN Also, read our article on Here We Go Magic.

(Star Theater, 13 NW 6th) Reptar got famous for two reasons: rambunctious live shows in and around their hometown of Athens, Georgia, and their debut EP, Oblangle Fizz Y'all, a wildly eccentric pastiche of dance music and Afro-pop. Their highly anticipated LP Body Faucet, produced by Ben Allen (Gnarls Barkley, Animal Collective), came out on May 1. With less quirk and more sparkle, Body Faucet is just as vigorous as Oblangle (except for the tearjerker song about the kid dying on his bike), but the sound is suddenly cohesive and organized. The fashionable production could be responsible for the fact that synthy shimmers have largely replaced the African influences that defined them early on, though the drum kit still sits front and center. As for frontman Graham Ulicny—he's sounding an awful lot like those other champions of African music, Vampire Weekend. REBECCA WILSON

(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Based on their music alone, you might be forgiven for assuming Red Fang is a band of scary dudes, but these musical descendents of Motörhead are a lot nicer than the punishing volume of their metal suggests. Case in point: Tonight they play to benefit the endangered art funding at Grant High School, which is downright sweet of them. MARJORIE SKINNER

(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) Something cool has been going on at the Mission Theater lately. Whoever's booking there has caught onto something. Maybe they're searching archives of 2007 Myspace profiles for the favorite bands of all those then drunken, arty college kids who've since realized Portland would suit them and made the migration. I wouldn't put it past McMenamins. Either way, Deer Tick is coming back to Portland after a long four months since the last show, which (even on Valentine's Day) obviously sold out. This could be a show you tell your grandkids about, assuming you can get a ticket. Their pioneering alt-country city-folk is rough enough that you don't have to know country life to love it. After a few great albums and some changes in the live lineup, Deer Tick has geared up again for a huge North American and European tour. ROCHELLE HUNTER

(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Few local acts can claim to have a strong international reach; fewer still can boast of having as big of an audience outside the United States as Kuwaiti/American emcee BigMo. The 21-year-old rapper was born in the States to a Kuwaiti father and a mother from Portland. He was then raised in Kuwait until he turned 18, at which point he moved to Portland to attend PSU. The last few months found Mo appearing at shows in Dubai and performing live on Kuwaiti television, so tonight doubles as a welcome-back party for his stateside friends and fans. It also marks the release of his aptly titled mixtape The Nomadic, featuring collaborations as diverse as Compton emcee Kendrick Lamar and Portland's own J Burns. The album contains witty bars spit over glossy production, and deftly balances an element of danger with conscious undertones. RYAN FEIGH

(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Just the utterance of the name Clap Your Hands Say Yeah takes me back to 2005, the year these Brooklynites' DIY debut gave them their five minutes of fame in the burgeoning blogosphere, while simultaneously making Brooklyn an indie-rock hub for the following five years. That's a lot of pressure. They've since released two more albums of arguably lesser quality, while Pitchfork—the tastemakers that initially championed the band as the greatest thing since sliced bread—has all but chewed them up and spit them out. What does it all mean? Clap Your Hands Say Yeah are the poster children for indie rock's new "here today, gone tomorrow" reality. Brooklyn bands typically are more style than substance. And Pitchfork is still trying to tell us what's good and what's bad. Wait, who were we talking about again? MARK LORE