MURDER CITY DEVILS, THE CATHETERS, THE VILES
(Satryricon) As Curtis Mayfield once said, "If there's a hell below, we're ALL gonna go!"(See My, What a Busy Week p 13) WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY
NOMEANSNO, REMOVAL
(Paradigm) Look out, all fascists! Nomeansno is back in town. On stage, they're like a punk tag-team free-for-all, with members switching their line-up constantly, from drums, to guitar, to bass, to whatever they can get their hands on. And, being Canadian, they're obsessed with hockey. Removal are in the same vein of technical punk, but without all the words. In fact, they don't even like titling their songs. Not sure how they feel about hockey. IAN SMITH
SHAME ON US (LINGERIE, LUST, AND LIBATIONS WITH JESUS PRESLEY)
(Ohm) After having been drunkenly convinced to enter more titty bars than I'm willing to say, I feel competent to discuss why they suck. Reason one: One is forced to sit directly in front of the naked chicks, next to your male buds, who absolutely refuse to talk to you or look in your direction. Reason two: Everyone who is at the strip clubs, besides your friends and that group of frat guys, is a complete freak. Reason three: You have to watch someone dance super-cheesily to white trash music while those same freaks get big boners. What I really want to tell you, however, is that the Ohm has provided us women with an appealing alternative to another night at Sassy's. This multimedia extravaganza will include those pesky dancers, in--wait, exotic fashions and lingerie--how posh. And instead of listening to Warrant, we gals can close our eyes and sway to the loungy sounds of Jesus Presley. Who knew T and A could be so civilized? KATIE SHIMER
SPITKICKER TOUR WITH DE LA SOUL, BIZ MARKIE, COMMON, PHARAOHE MONCH, TALIB KWELI, HI TEK
(Roseland) We arrive in 2000 with rap looking not unlike rock 'n' roll did when IT turned twenty back in '75: bloated, dusty, and corporate-owned. Now, seemingly out of nowhere, comes the Spitkicker Tour to kindly shove fat-ass rap back into the abyss. It will inhabit midsize venues while at the same time the Monsters of Rap, oops, I mean the "Up In Smoke" tour slogs its way through the biggest halls. De La Soul, once thought to be nearing retirement, is now working on a trilogy. The first installment, Art Official Intelligence: Mosaic Thump, hits the stores in late July. Hopefully, it will make good on the promise of Stakes Is High, De La Soul's first release without the incredible skills of producer Prince Paul. Common was featured on Stakes Is High's sharpest cut ("The Bizness") and came into his own on last year's One Day It'll All Make Sense. Talib Kweli is touted as hip-hop's newest lyrical genius. For evidence, check out his work with Mos Def on Black Star. Biz Markie, the hallowed elder statesman of the tour, is the featured artist of featured artists, popping up on a who's who of old and new school hip-hop platters. He will be THE court jester, pranking and playing with his Spitkicker brethren all evening. If you want to hear what's going on beneath the unholy radar of Stadium Rap Inc. ®, get with the lyricists who kick ballistic down at the Roseland and kick Marshall Mathers in the balls for me. TED THIEMAN
FRIDAY 6/30
TOSHI MAKIHARA, WALLY SHOUP, & DOUG THERIAULT
(Bijou Cafè) Philly percussionist Toshi Makihara and Seattle's Wally Shoup, an alto-saxist, are on the noisier, creative side of the jazz spectrum. They recently performed in an uncompromisingly free improv trio with Sonic Youth guitarist Thurston Moore. Their hard-edged sax wailing and Makihara's unpredictable, yet precise tapping was full of intense power, and often punctuated with unusual homemade instruments (he even used a stuffed Wile E. Coyote toy as a mallet). Local performer Doug Theriault may not have the name draw of some alt-rock demigod, but he is more than able to fill Moore's guitar improvisation shoes. Smooth jazz sucks, these cats are the real thing. ROLF SEMPREBON
ROGER WATERS
(The Gorge) As the second visionary madman of Pink Floyd (after Syd Barrett), Roger Waters took the band to their commercial and creative zenith. Then, as the second visionary madman to leave Pink Floyd (once more following Barrett's lead), Waters fell off the planet almost completely. Outside of a few solo records and the occasional overblown performance of The Wall, Waters kept a low profile while his band mates became a bland, MTV staple. Now Roger is back, and he wants to know if, indeed, there is still anybody out there, and if they are, do they care to see him trot out his past glories. (I assume he doesn't have a new record, because if he did, I am sure he would have been on "Behind the Music" by now so that VH1 could tell us it's the best thing he's ever done.) If nothing else, this is the closest we're going to get to any Floyd this year, and if it isn't a mind-expanding experience, it may at least expand the known realms of comedy. So, if you missed him in town, head up to the Gorge and engorge yourself on a little psychedelia. JAMIE S. RICH
DRYER
(Mad Hatter) With this whole neo-country thing, most of us have clear lines drawn between bands we love and bands we hate. For me, Dryer is one of those on the good side of the line. Most likely it's down to their easygoing delivery. They don't feel the need to prove that they are "real" by taking some exaggerated pose of authenticity. (Has it ever struck you how both hip-hop and redneck music focus on "keeping it real?" Is it a dick thing?) Dryer just play their music and hoe down with no fuss, no fluff. Just lots of heat and a good square dance spin. JSR
THE NATRONS
(Berbati's) It's Natron! Portland's own rhythm & blue yonder intergalactic spaceabilly protector. He comes home to roost at Berbati's, but has replaced his automated butt-grinding, beatbox gadgetry with cellulosic, veteran Portland musicians Craig Becker and Juliette Jones. The band joins Natron at midnight, when he rises from the grave (na€tron n. a carbonate salt used for desiccating mummies), or at least from a 12-hour sojourn in a pine-box coffin, located on Berbati's catwalk. Witness an aberrant alternative to Portland's annual arthritic Blues Festival. Offer no resistance. The Natrons' Bo Diddley sex-beats will permeate your frail human bodily tissues. Soft clay creature of terrestrially-tied neuropathetic disposition: Relinquish your soul, body and billfold to him. Machine or man, Natron has the most brilliant bi-pedal showmanship since those wacky 2001 monkeys throwing bones and "eek"ing something awful. Natron! Show us your V-8 rocketship! BRIAN H. GRIFFEY
SATURDAY 7/1
K SHOWCASE STARRING GENE DEFCON, THE GOSSIP, MIRAH, C.O.C.O., WOLF COLONEL
(Meow Meow) What does it take to get on K Records? A punk aesthetic? Cute lyrics? A good hairdo? Is there a dance contest that Calvin judges and hands out free popsicles as prizes? Last year at Yo-Yo, several K Recording artists were spotted serving potato knishes for two bucks each. I think my investigative tail feather's on to something. This is the third wave of K bands, the ones who loved Black Candy and moved to the weird little phenomenon that is Olympia. The beat is still happening, with rockahs The Gossip, Gene Defcon, C.O.C.O., and Portland's beloved Wolf Colonel. Mirah will steal the show, however. Her small, half-smile voice is a puffy cloud of a thing, and she uses it to sing about strap-ons! How could you resist? JULIANNE SHEPHERD
PROZ & CONZ, THE CHOSEN, RARE BREED
(Roseland) School's out. Proz and Conz have a second album out. And I think they're all out of school. Proz and Conz are a six-strong rap unit of eastside fellas a few years removed from the halls of Grant and Central Catholic. This throw down is a CD release for The Life I Lead, and I'm betting the show will sell out, so show up early. I'm also proposing that Proz and Conz hook up with the similar-aged Helio Sequence. It would be an eastside/ westside summit of hip-hop and psychedelic rock. Like PM Dawn, but actually good. Can you imagine all of their creative young splendor in one room? I think you can. TT
BSG, FREE MARTINS, RED MADDER
(Ash St. Saloon) You know when you've just taken a bunch of caffeine pills and you're watching a band and you're like wow, these mo-fos rock, I love these bitches, where's my purse, is anyone going to get another drink, it's hot in here, where's the bathroom--and then the buzz wears off. What's even worse, though, is when the band starts playing horrible cover songs that make you feel like you're watching some low-budget Las Vegas lounge act. I recount this anecdote only because it recently happened to me at a Red Madder show. Until "On Broadway," I really enjoyed the orchestral rock, and the tripped out high-pitched guitars. I even enjoyed watching the dancing, drunk threesome dry hump each other. Perhaps it might even have become a foursome, had Red Madder not gone and spoiled all my fun. KS
SUNDAY 7/2
DAVIS LEE HOOKER, MADE FOR TV MOVIE, PARTY OF HELICOPTERS, I AM NOT A HUMAN
(Meow Meow) (See Music Bio Box page 19) JS
THE DISTANCE FORMULA TRAVELLING CINEMA, REPLIKANTS, JACKIE O. MOTHERFUCKER, SWORDS PROJECT
(Lola's) I'd just spent a night watching math rock at EJ's when a pal convinced me to trod over to the Tonic to check out something called the Swords Project. I drove. He rode his moped. We arrived just in time to see the end, where the all-star improvising orchestra was playing a gorgeous atmosphere to the most raptly quiet audience I've ever seen at that place. Their violins, guitars, and keyboards were a spaceship of twinkling notes, hitting crystal and dividing in a chaotic unison. I can't wait to see them again, and this time I'm bringing some tissues and a DAT machine. (See Music page 15) JS
MONDAY 7/3
MÖTLEY CRÜE, MEGADETH
(Gorge Amphitheater) The last time I saw Vince Neil was on an episode of The Tonight Show about a year ago. He was fat and heinous and still singing "Kick Start My Heart" while doing pathetic jumps off the drum stage. I felt kind of sorry for him, because I knew deep down inside that he was only doing it for the money. Well, it looks like he must be hard up again because here comes the Crüe, with, I'm sorry, but the most ear-wrenching, horrendously crappy metal band ever...Megadeth. Please pardon my dry heaving. More repulsive than Megadeth's putrid songs though, are the images of thirty-something mullet heads moshing to "Dr. Feelgood." But hey, more fun might be on the way! Mötley Crüe is scheduled to release a new album next month (New Tattoo) so maybe we'll be lucky enough to hear them with Ratt or Slaughter in 2001. KS
JONNY X & THE GROADIES, THRONES, WELCOME TO MY SKIRT, UNSOUNDS
(Robot Steakhouse) The fourth of July is a great day in American history. Jonny X and the Groadies have reached their four-year anniversary. Both call for celebration. In the whir and crash of the Groadies' sequenced malovence, you can hear the echoes of the great revolutionary war our forefathers so bravely fought. Their singer, like a birthday-suited Patrick Henry, refuses to shy away from the challenging eyes of the crowd. Instead, he batters them continuously with a guttural cry to arms. Behind the erstwhile revolutionary, a tattered regiment of two follows, wielding nothing more than mighty stacks of amplification. Barely held together by an inhuman midi machine, it forces them (in much the same manner as the unjust taxes demanded by the red coats) to play at a similarly inhuman volume and speed. The Thrones prove yet braver still, consisting of one lone soul and four mighty strings. Ahh, but the wrath and fury contained therein, what we could do if all our armies were made of such stuff. Following in the rear are Welcome to my Skirt, who wisely present covers of the Groadies' songs, that we may reflect on the battles that still lie ahead. It shall be a great evening of fervor and ferment, and if the British are coming, I say, let them come! JONATHAN WILLETT
VANS WARPED TOUR STARRING A VARIETY OF ACTS
(Gorge) Shameless theatrics, pointless rebellion, inescapably commercial escapades led by herb-friendly pervert front men...not that hard to date American punk back to the Boston tea party, is it? I mean, how better to celebrate our nation's independence--a war fought to defend the price of dry good imports--than guzzling spiked Gatorade, Wicked Extreme Ice Power Gatorade, at the Vans Warped Tour? You know about the alternative outdoor festival, I'm sure. A host of bands you'd want to see--Supersuckers, Lunachicks, The Donnas--share time with Green Day, NOFX, Mighty Mighty Bosstones and whomever else your teen sister idolized in 1996.
BMX and skateboarding adepts, men grown wealthy demonstrating an embarrassingly profound mastery of children's games (rather like Green Day themselves, actually) shall perform or battle or whatever it is they do. If you're lucky, there might even be a souvenir booth. However perversely inappropriate stumbling out of the tent to watch TSOL may be, there's something of the great stoner camping fantasy about it all. If you want to sleep under the stars with a billion other pierced snowboard enthusiasts...why in god's name are you reading this paper? You can't read! Go out and shred something! JH
WEDNESDAY 7/5
31 KNOTS, LAST OF THE JUANITAS, THE PLANET THE
(EJ's) My friend Craig Koozer's dad read him chapters from advanced calculus textbooks as bedtime stories. I have a feeling more than one of the kids playing 31 Knots' CD release party may have been sentenced to a similar childhood fate, and probably liked it. Come early to this anti-logarithmic showcase, and make sure to bring your TI-86. (See My, What a Busy Week p 13) CHANTELLE HYLTON
REVEREND HORTON HEAT, HANK WILLIAMS III
(Wild Duck/Eugene) The Reverend always does well in Eugene, town of sin, as he pounds out his sermon on his old hollow-body to teeming masses of rabid believers. Some people call it "psychobilly." I call it perfect background music to a high-stakes game of poker with Satan himself, and you're holding an ace in the hole. Hank Williams III, opening for the Reverend, doesn't hold a candle to his grandfather. He does give his pop a run for his money, though. (Unless you're a hardcore football fan, in which case Hank "Bocephus" Williams Jr, and Budweiser are probably more your style.) IS
