THURSDAY 11/21
ADD (N) TO X, SOVIET, COBRA HIGH
(Berbati's, 231 SW Ankeny) Both Add (N) to X and their protégés, Portland expatriates Cobra High (who moved to Seattle), douse their rock with a hot lump of buzzy keyboards and an explosive, plugged-in energy; both are excellent live. Soviet is one of those deflated new electro bands that sounds just like old Kraftwerk, which I have no interest in since my friend Tomas gave me a copy of the brilliantly nasty, definitive ghettotech album Mr De's Electronic Funkyshit, which came out on Detroit's ElectroFunk label, and is the best record ever released. From this point on, all music shall be judged against it. JULIANNE SHEPHERD
LALI PUNA, OPIATE, SYTROFOAM
(Blackbird, 3728 NE Sandy) German quartet Lali Puna's sophomore LP, Scary World Theory, exemplifies the constant transitional state between guitar-based pop and glitchy, experimental IDM that so many acts are trying to peg these days. On Scary, the poptronic group successfully finds a language to communicate a positive love affair between animal (human vocals) and machine (programmed backing noises). The band works from a base of clean guitar pop, held together by Valerie Trebeljahr's floating, '60s-flavored vocal delivery, a style reminiscent of Stereolab's and Saint Etienne's frontwomen. The beats lay somewhere between live and programmed drums; not surprisingly, they sound to be derived from Radiohead's "Airbag" cut-and-paste approach, or Squarepusher's stuttering, syncopated, computer-on-the-verge-of-meltdown programming (which seems to be the current standard IDM palette). Trebeljahr's partner in crime is Markus Acher from the Notwist--an act that first gained notoriety for their heavy-yet-melodic, Helmet-meets-Sigur Rös, drop-D-guitar approach in the mid-'90s. At the time it sounded confusing and schizophrenic to me, but Acher's vision was ahead of its time, and it's now paying off in Lali Puna. After all our years of unrelenting Sprockets jokes, the German electronic scene is laughing all the way to the bank. NICOLAE WHITE
CIRCULATORY SYSTEM, PIPES YOU SEE, PIPES YOU DON'T, THE INSTRUMENTS, BIRDY NUM NU
(Crystal, 1332 W Burnside) When it comes to out-there indierock, weirdness for the sake of being weird is not interesting to me. Naming your debut album Isolated Peanut Butter Violence, Part 6 and claiming Captain Beefheart and Michael Bolton as your anti-influences might get some giggles, but it also might be better left in the basement next to the Lost in Space tape loops. That said, the weirdness of this bill is an excellent example of worthwhile weirdness. With the exception of the local and lovable Minus 5, everyone on this bill has some loose affiliation with the ever-splintering Elephant 6 collective--especially Circulatory System, the brainchild of the Olivia Tremor Control's Will Cullen Hart. Unlike his painfully poppy OTC collaborator Bill Doss, Hart keeps his focus on childlike, morbid atmospherics, applying thoughtful touches of ghostly banjo, violin, layered horns, and unpredictable percussive accents to his sweetly infectious vocal harmonies. HANNAH LEVIN
BETH ORTON, NICOLE CAMPBELL
(Roseland, NW 6th & Davis) Beth Orton is on a solo tour, and look, she is playing... but she's no Mr. Dé. JS
FRIDAY 11/22
HENS, ROKPOCKET MOUSE, MUNECA CHUECA
(Kyla's, 2645 NE 22nd) Everyone is raving about Hens, a newish local band with dancey electronic beats, heavy guitar and lotsa vocals w/costumes; I haven't heard them yet, but I'll let you know soon how they compare to Mr. Dé. Rokpocket Mouse is a Dirty Three-ish, drum/viola/violin trio, and Muneca Chueca enshrouds themselves with the hot pink burqa of electro--a singing, keyboard-wielding trio of ladies from Oly. JS
ELEVATOR: ALEX ATTIAS, BOBBY BOSSA, ELLIOTT
(Saucebox, 214 SW Broadway) Alex Attias is a Swiss DJ living in London who's got a pretty extended history of nu-jazz, broken beat, and house records. I was lucky enough to be at his gig in SF last weekend, and he was pretty incredible, with an impeccable selection of broken beat, much of it jazz-based (like his new mix on Goya Music). The only bad part was when he had to slow the beat down cause we were too busy dancing our lil' assez off to notice they were trying to close the club. Don't miss him. JS
SOUR VEIN, LAST EMPIRE, WITCH MOUNTAIN, HOMO-ERADICUS
(Ash, 225 SW Ash) This show is not for the part-time metal lover; this is the dirty lowdown shit. Four bands, heavy drinking, screeching guitars, dirty hair, leather, you name it. Last Empire is an attraction; featuring the singer from the Judas Priest cover band British Steel, Last Empire performs a wild, totally metal stage show and songs that aren't too far off the mark from Judas as well. Sour Vein is a doom/stoner rock band including Matt from High on Fire, and Witch Mountain... well, classic heavy metal again. KATIE SHIMER
HELIO SEQUENCE, MENOMENA, NEED NEW BODY, PEAK SHAKANE (Berbati's) Go see Philly's Need New Body, a six-piece featuring four ex-members of cult art-rock band Bent Leg Fatima; they are incredible. Dual keyboards, guitar, bass, percussion instruments made from plastic toolboxes and bicycle wheels, a spastically kickass drummer, a banjo played in the least banjo-like way possible, and a mountain of magical tenor/bass harmonies ignite above those beats with a sparkling chaos. The band's sound is a musical gumbo, exploring all sorts of rhythm--funk, dub, jazz--allroasted with the sharp tong of punk. Also, Need New Body is one of those rare bands that is both talented and funny (in a post-Frank Zappa/post-David Cross way). Live, they come off like a maniacal oompah band, unafraid of performance art, dancing around like lunatics, or playing so hard they look like their eyes will bust out of their heads. Vocalist/banjo player Jeff Bradbury amplifies this magical energy by sometimes wearing this big ass gold Aztec god outfit, complete with sparkly muu-muu and hawk mask, and making hilariously inappropriate comments just to shock. (Ex.: "So... my boys back here need to get laid.") Sun Ra, my ass! JS
THE ALUMINUM GROUP, PARKER & LILY, MODERNSTATE
(Blackbird) This evening's performance by the excellent orch-synth-pop act the Aluminum Group (in support of the Chicago combo's fine new LP, Happyness [sic]) should be notable, because the brothers John and Frank Navin, TAG's braintrust, are touring as a duo, their elaborate string and horn arrangements are condensed to MP3 form and loaded onto an iPod for a backing band. Brilliance. SEAN NELSON
THE SHINS, ALL GIRL SUMMER FUN BAND, THE THERMALS, BURNT PLOSIVES
(Disjecta, 116 NE Russell) As a benefit for the Experimental Film Festival! See MWBW pg 9
THE HIGH AND THE MIGHTY, JUNIOR'S GANG, THE UNITS, THE MONEYCHANGERS
(Jasmine Tree, 801 SW Harrison) Rock and roll is dead, or at least that's what the High and Mighty claim, and they make a big hullabaloo about supposedly keeping it alive. How a glorified garage rock band is ever going to keep anything alive is a mystery, though HAM, at the very least, can make a funny acronym out of their name. Loud guitars will abound at this show, with thrashy, screamish sets from all four bands. JUSTIN "WEST COAST" SANDERS
THE SOUNDTRACK OF OUR LIVES, CATO SALSA EXPERIENCE, CITIZEN BIRD
(Roseland) I hate to say it, but when I heard the new Soundtrack of Our Lives, it felt as if some evil studio head had kidnapped a band I used to really like (a band whose previous incarnation released Extended Revelation for the Psychic Weaklings of Western Civilization). In place of the original spacey, psychedelic Swedish band was an overproduced, scattered Beta Band (minus the quirks) in the making. They've become a Beatles/Who hybrid whose every note sounds cleaner than the inside of a BMW dealership. That said, maybe this is a band that just takes time to get reintroduced to--one for which you have to create a completely clean slate that allows room for grandiose ballads and shortened trips to the group's psychedelic side. As much as I'm resisting their change, I'll still be there to see how they pull off this newer, sometimes-shoegazery Behind the Music sound live. JENNIFER MAERZ
SATURDAY 11/23
ELEVATOR: JOHN BELTRAN, MR. MU MU
(Saucebox) As a DJ and producer, John Beltran mixes a ton of Brazilian rhythms, whistles, bongos, and weird little gems of bells into his sweaty, driving house tunes. Super Latin, super glamorous, and super danceable, Beltran released a record on Ubiquity earlier this year. JS
DEGENERATE ART ENSEMBLE, OLD TIME RELIJUN, CAPTURED BY ROBOTS, FAUN FABLES
(Blackbird) If it doesn't incite immediate polarity, I'm generally not interested--and Arrington de Dionyso is nothing if not polarizing. The wide-eyed, salivating howl of De Dionyso's Olympia staple Old Time Relijun is enough to send timorous audiences running for the exit lights faster than if they'd heard "Dueling Banjos" in backwoods Georgia. It's that perverse Southern gothic smell of music that sweats moonshine, secreting the essence of masculine id. Outbursts of atonal throat singing, horns, shouts, and clatter season Old Time Relijun's live performances--wholeheartedly inconsistent (and I mean that in the most complimentary sense) affairs of blind revivalist vehemence. ZAC PENNINGTON
MFING ARCTICS: XIU XIU, DAMNED YELLOW SWANS, NICE NICE, SUPER UNITY, GHOST TO FALCO, PANTHER, PANAMA, BOOM DE LA BOOM
(Disjecta) Now here are some bands who need a copy of Mr. Dé's Electronic Funkyshit, the greatest record ever released. Panther in particular, whose popcorn-glitchy, electrofunk steez is similar to that of Mr. Dé, but without all the references to his dick. So the Arctics Fest is the witch's-tit version of this summer's PDX TROPIX, a totally successful and insanely fun two-day exhibition of Portland's fine experimental, noise, avant and plain punk-fucked art-damagers. Tonight, enjoy Portland's most innovative band, Nice Nice, who slip funk and visionary dub beats into their guitar-drum improv shit; it's smoother and more mind-freaking than a sizzling bowl of smokeshop Salvia. Xiu Xiu's homemade percussion and grieving vocals slice through heavy house beats with an artful resonance. Both are Mr. Dé-worthy. If you're into experimentation, tonight goes from noisy to plaintive to improvised and back again. JS
IMMOLATION, VADER, BERZERKER, ORIGIN
(Meow Meow, 520 SE Pine) Formed in the late '80s in New York, Immolation have been working the death metal circuit a long friggin' time. Maybe the title of their next record will be something like Descent into Eternity or Seeming Eternity, although those sound more like titles for an Enya record. Their music is textbook death metal, what with the super-fast metal jams, the rugh, rugh, rugh singing and the fascination with the dark and unholy. KS
PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES, JR EWING, HINT HINT
( Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) See MWBW pg 9
SUNDAY 11/24
X
( Roseland) What is there to say about X that hasn't already been said a hundred times by people far wiser than myself? Nothing, that's what. And so, let me take this chance to say that I listened to Wild Gift the other night, and it still rules. So does Los Angeles. So, for that matter, does More Fun in the New World, even. This is all because of the elemental harmony created by the voices of John Doe and Exene Cervenka, which do not age, and cannot be diminished by repeated listens. SEAN NELSON
PDX ARCTIX FEXT, DUDE: THE LOWDOWN, SHADOW GLOVE, JONNY X AND THE GROADIES, POINT LINE PLANE, SLEETMUTE, REEKS & THE WRECKS, THE FORMLESS, MOUSTACHE (Disjecta) Don't forget to attend night two of PDX ARCTIX, if you're not dead yet from night one, that is. The Lowdown is a mind-boggler, and seeing them play is like taking acid and trying to put together a jigsaw puzzle--it's a confounding mess of Casios and screaming--which is why they are awesome. Shadow Glove features the electro-conceptual chix from Crack: WAR (Tigerbeat6's newest signees) on some kinda gothic, The Shining tip. Moustache is Sean Croghan's hardcore band that plays like once every six years, and Jonny X and the Groadies play one-minute-long songs. There's a lot of high concept going on tonight, especially for a Sunday. Also, all of the performers have something in common with Mr. De, be it a good dance beat, a sassy veneer, or an absurdly OTT affinity for their own penises. (They "throw some dick at us hoes," or "lay more dick than a pipeline.") JS
MONDAY 11/25
SIGUR R"S
(Roseland) Call it a highly improbable anomaly, but Sigur Rös have become post-rock's great white hope. Their new album, ( ) (the cover looks like a toilet seat covered with black and white foliage), is the closest thing to Zen a major-label (or indie) rock band has released recently. No credits, band photos, song titles, lyrics, shout-outs, or logos soil its pristine surfaces. (Fans can go to www.sigur-ros.com to find out such minutiae; there, aspiring poets can contribute lyrics to Sigur Rös' sparsely worded songs.) The Reykjavik, Iceland quartet's rise to commercial prominence (critics' love was practically a given) is one of the strangest--and most welcome--developments in modern rock (most of which is neither modern nor rock). Vocalist Jon Thor Birgisson sings like a goddamned angel over elegiac, glacial ballads that make Godspeed You Black Emperor! and Spiritualized sound as earthbound as Helmet. These Icelanders tap into a heart-bursting vein so rich, it's almost impossible not to well up with tears, even though you have no idea what the songs are about. The fourth track on ( ), especially, tugs at heartstrings until they snap, catapulting your beloved organ out of your chest cavity and into deep space. Sigur Rös offer soothing sonic icepacks for our beleaguered heads--with beautiful, sweeping strings attached. Still, nothing really prepared us for ( )'s runaway success. When Sigur Rös' second album, Ág¨tis Byrjun, came out in 1999, it garnered nearly unanimous rave reviews and prizes like the Shortlist award. Mainstream publications like Rolling Stone and The New York Times Magazine lavished beaucoup column inches on the group. Ág¨tis Byrjun (post-)rocked in a somewhat more conventional manner than does ( )--but perhaps because British cult imprint FatCat (rather than a multinational conglomerate) released it, Byrjun failed to enrapture the mass consciousness like its successor has. Now, with MCA's financial and promotional might behind them, Sigur Rös have the wherewithal to play North America's swankier theaters. On the band's current tour, the lineup will expand to include a cellist, violinist, and keyboard and xylophone players. A fan who saw the group at Beacon Theatre in New York said Sigur Rös played before blurry, ethereal images that shifted between positive and negative exposures and moved in sync with the flamboyant light show. DAVE SEGAL
TUESDAY 11/26
THE FORTH, LASERHAWK, QUEEN BEE JACKSON (Blackbird) Portland's The Forth has just issued a record entitled Past is Prologue which, musically, is the exact polar opposite of Mr. De's Electronic Funkyshit, although The Forth has a good drummer who could probably play some ghettotech beats if he put his mind to it. Now, beneath The Forth's boy-boy harmonies is a river of angry riffs, the aforementioned good drumming (lots of subtleties), and solid, Shellac-y basslines. There's a major assload of music similar to this being released--the sort of heavy, emotively vocaled, slightly proggy, seriously late-'90s stuff--but The Forth has enough personality that if you heard them twice you would probably know who they were the second time. Also, the duo vocal harmony interplay is quite nice. JS
RAINER MARIA, RILO KILEY
(Meow Meow) If you desire excellent, smart pop music twinkling with orchestral elements like glockenspiel and bells, Rilo Kiley's newest record on Saddle Creek is amazing. Lyrically, they're on par with their labelmates, Bright Eyes, illustrating stories and situations through the eyes of a depressive, love-yearning narrator. The fusion of said depressive narrator with airy, bursting girl-boy vocals and a vaguely '70s AM radio feel gives them an honest, bittersweet edge. JS
WEDNESDAY 11/27
TRIAL BY FIRE, THE PHYSICAL CHALLENGE, DEAD EVEN, THE SCREAMING EVILS
(Reed College) Not to be confused with the Journey album title of the same name, Trial By Fire is a violent infusion of punk and metal. They thrash, they scream, and they play the drums really loud and fast. The Screaming Evils are mere babes, high schoolers hailing from Canby, WA, who play Satanic death rock. It's pretty terrible, but young 'uns have an energy that just can't be topped, especially when they're singing about screaming into the eye sockets of a loved one's black skull. J "WC" S
