THURSDAY 4/1

BOZO PORNO CIRCUS, JULIAN TULIP'S LICORICE, ELECTRO MAGNET
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) A combo platter of industrial music, girls in skimpy clothes who act menacing and breathe fire, and guys who wear leather and makeup, the Bozo Porno Circus is something I would've gone apeshit for when I was 16. This is a continuation of the Skinny Puppy/Thrill Kill Kult era of music that appeals to the angry, driving noise lover who wears vinyl, or black nail polish, or pierces their privates. KATIE SHIMER

DEAD LIKE DALLAS, BELIEVING IN JUNE, ADAINE, EVERYTHING THAT KILLS, RHYTHM OF '84, SUMARA
(Solid State, SE 9th & Ash) Today's modern, sensitive hardcore acts veer abruptly between vulnerable crooning and throat-thrashing yelps, baring both the singer's fragile soul and his intense anguish when said soul becomes deadened with despair. However, when Portland's Dead Like Dallas changes modes, it doesn't sound like a seismic shift within a single dynamic personality. Rather, it feels like reckless renegades have commandeered the mild-mannered melodic numbers, crashing them into solid walls and forcing the traumatized hooks to crawl from the fiery wreckage. With two guitarists/vocalists shredding and shrieking and a drummer pounding robust rhythms, the group's lack of a bassist seems like an irrelevant omission. ANDREW MILLER

I AM THE WORLD TRADE CENTER, PAPER LIONS, BADGER KING
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Don't worry, I Am the World Trade Center has nothing to do with that. In fact, they're a pleasantly vapid little boy-girl duo that sings energetic, new wavey synth pop. Their record is pretty mellow, but live they have been known to pogo around like fleas on a hot stove. Paper Lions take their experience in punk rock and mesh it with torch melodies and keyboards. The results are dangerously radio friendly, except that the Paper Lions have more complexity and soul than your average innocuous alterna-radio poster band. MARJORIE SKINNER

ASH OF HEFFER, STIVS, PENNY LANE, BXF
(Meow Meow, 320 SE 2nd) Musicians worship, emulate, and write tribute songs to deceased rock icons--but, with the exception of cover bands, they rarely incorporate the late artist's name into their monikers. When looking to rechristen itself, Portland's raucous Reaction looked to Dead Boys/Lord of the New Church frontman Stiv Bators for inspiration. The Stivs' rowdy, raw, and aggressive attack stays true to the spirit of '77, assuring punk purists that Bators' name isn't being used in vain. AM

EVERYDAY VICTORY, IRETSU, PAINT BY NUMBERS, THE KITE EATING TREE
(Tonic, 3100 NE Sandy) Somewhere between prodigal son and black sheep, Tom Ackerman has a long history in Portland music. One time frontman for Skiploader--a mighty force in local music back when major labels were snatching up Portland bands--and drummer for Sunday's Best (an LA-based band who recorded here with Tony Lash), Ackerman returns with his latest, Kite Eating Tree. Sounding like a working man's Rival Schools, or a reckless Jawbox, the band is as charming as they are loud. And they are very, very loud. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

FRIDAY 4/2

BOOSEN
(XV, 15 SW 2nd) Transparent Productions is a new Portland label/production company; while the base, clunky lyrics/lyricism on their recent release, BooSen's 13 Years, is lacking, the beats are pretty great--creative, stripped down, and oddly bumping despite their vaguely avant/interpretive bent. They also have a gifted vocalist in their singer-lady Stina; hopefully she'll show up and sing over everything. JS

PARTY TIME, RPG, BIG BUSINESS
(Berbati's, 231 SW Ankeny) The future of heavy-ass rock looks a lot like Party Time hanging out in a ski chalet, and playing for their vast TransWorld Snowboarding fanbase. If any dudes deserve an unlimited supply of caviar and Pabst, it's them. Big Business includes Jared Warren (Karp, Tight Bros) and Coady Willis (Murder City Devils), which means hold onto your seats. And let's face it: a band that names itself RPG (short for "role playing games," dogs) is not fucking around. Bowel control is up to you. JULIANNE SHEPHERD

USS HORSEWHIP, THE NEINS, DIRT BIKE ANNIE
(Twilight, 1420 SE Powell) Generally "zany" punk bands like Dirt Bike Annie are all obvious music and no hidden treasure. But these kids move beyond their stupid name and easy references (Pixies, Weezer) because they have HELLA FUN. Like, massive, hella fun--on stage, on the record, whatever. Case in point: They covered "Are You Ready for the Summer," from the genius Bill Murray flick, Meatballs and threw in a sample of ol' Bill for good measure. Fun! Now, if they were to cover Morris Day and The Time, I would be straight up in love. Fun is so much fun. ADAM GNADE

DJ FEDERICO AUBELE, MR MUMU, ELLIOTT
(Saucebox, 214 SW Broadway) Lending to Saucebox's regular sophistifunk/aristocrat vibe, Argentinian DJ Federico Aubele makes it a destination on his North American tour, promoting Gran Hotel Buenos Aires (Eighteenth Street Lounge). JS

DAMIEN RICE, THE FRAMES
(Roseland, NW 6th and Burnside) Every once in a blue moon, an incredibly talented Irish storyteller falls out of the sky and drops a gorgeous record in the hands of all the press, and everyone TOTALLY RAVES about it for like several really loud months, and all the kids are like, "Who is this dude?" Because, judging from all the lauding and hyperbolic praise, he's surely a pre-fab sub-par UK copy of Sam Beam/Ryan Adams--right? Then, they realize that behind the hype is real talent, and that O, his debut full-length, is as gentle as Townes Van Zandt, but grand and epic like The Unforgettable Fire-era U2. And they realize that every bright swell's oceanic pull beckons them towards Rice's climaxes like a shrimper boat on the sea; that it takes delicate touch to orchestrate elements of opera into rudimentary folk and traditional acoustic rock. If you don't have the album, get it. If you haven't thought about checking Rice out, do. JOAN HILLER

Q BURNS ABSTRACT MESSAGE
(Ohm, 31 NW 1st) Orlando, Florida's Q-Burns Abstract Message (Michael Donaldson) was one of America's brightest hopes in the erstwhile electronica boom of '97 (he opened for Chemical Brothers and Fatboy Slim on their US tours that year and later signed to Astralwerks). On 1998's Feng Shui, Q-Burns made funky house, quirky big beat, R&B, ethnodelica, and even a spangling version of Faust's proto-shoegazer classic "Jennifer" rewardingly coexist. But after 2001's slicker, weaker Invisible Airline, Q seems to have given up original productions for remixing duties and an endless global DJ tour, including gigs in Siberia and Columbia. Let's hope he'll be touchin' on something special tonight--like maybe his Britney Spears/Basic Channel mashup. DAVE SEGAL

POM POM MELTDOWN, DIS, THE LOVERS
(Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside) Carolyn Berk's songs are bruised with an impossible sentimentality--every couplet is a romance, marred with an awkward nostalgia for everything in its wake. Sort of like with real lovers, I suppose. With Lovers, Berk's occasional band, every body part--from wrists to gums--becomes a landscape of locked memory. A landscape that she traverses with a literate, evocative grace--somehow transcending the sap that inherently mires the subject matter of love, loss, hopelessness, and everything else mediocre songwriters tend to muck up. ZAC PENNINGTON

TEASING ZEN, SOPHE LUX, BUCHANAN, HAWTHORNE
(Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) With wry, often sexual lyrics and grinding guitar hooks, Sophe Lux seems to be drawing heavily from Her Highness Liz Phair. Lux' vocals are more emotional than Phair's, though, with a sweet sadness that can be quite endearing. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS

AUDIO LEARNING CENTER, NOW IT'S OVERHEAD, STATISTICS
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Now It's Overhead's new release, Fall Back Open, moves at the puffy-eyed pace of a scorned lover burying a broken heart in a cold coffin of stark synth cuts. That icy foundation melts at the edges with vocalist/multi-instrumentalist Andy LeMaster's warm yet melancholy vocals and atmospheric brushes of electric guitar and strings. It's a combination of subtleties that never fails to leave my own heart busted open. This talented Athens act attracts backing vocals from Conor Oberst and Michael Stipe on Fall, making their moody art rock that much more gorgeous. JENNIFER MAERZ

VOLCANO, I'M STILL EXCITED!, THE MONA REELS, SECRET PUPPETS
(Disjecta, 116 NE Russell) Volcano, I'm Still Excited! has sure gotten a ton of press lately considering how forgettable their elementary self-titled Polyvinyl debut is. It's too bad, too, 'cause their cookie-cutter pop is treated with such angularity and smirky wit that it almost graduates to junior high. Songs like "Shouting Across the Water" and "By No Means" are slathered with warm organ and simple SK-5 Casio beats that might prove endearing if they didn't animate such sophomoric subject matter: Volcano's hookiest attempt, "New Brad," is the whiniest, most desperate breakup song since Pink's "Misery," but not in a good way. In it, our protagonist breaks into his ex's house and nasally declares, "Your window wasn't open like you promised!" Yeah, buddy. That's because bitch doesn't want you around. And you know what? Your song won't get her back. JOAN HILLER

RESTARTS, DEFIANCE, THE ESCAPED
(Paris, 6 SW 3rd) Refreshingly genuine and outlandishly abrasive--even its website greets visitors with a blaring car-alarm honk and a false system-error screen--the London-based Restarts play pissed-off punk that lands like a bottle to the head without the bloody-mess aftermath. Its brutally frank political rants and straight-razor riffs slice with equal precision, while its eloquently expressed obsession with Orwellian oppression and Brave New World-style genetic coding results in some of the least geeky sci-fi-themed songs ever assembled. AM

SATURDAY 4/3

FANNYPACK, GRAVY TRAIN!!!!, THE PUNK GROUP CD RELEASE, THE FITNESS
(Dante's) See Music pg 19

MELT TRUNK & RUNWAY SHOW: THE JOLENES, SKETCHY TED, DJ JUBI
(Mississippi Pizza, 3552 N Mississippi) Now that Portland's becoming almost as clothes crazy as it is band crazy, it seems like there's a runway show every weekend, usually thrown in conjunction with local music. This is no exception, with models walking to the rocking beats of the Jolenes and Sketchy Ted. Plus, there's a champagne fountain. Can we drink out of it? MS

KPSU BENEFIT SHOW: GREEN CIRCLES, SLOMO RABBIT KICK, 31AVAS VS. MR ROMO, MA FORD, DJ RATCH, JACKIE, STARS OF TRACK AND FIELD, COLIN SIC
(Berbati's, 231 SW Ankeny) You know when you're at karaoke, and it doesn't matter that everyone's vocals are merely serviceable because you're with your friends and whatever, it's funÉ and then that one person busts out the most heart-breaking, exhilarating performance of Heart's "Crazy on You" or Jefferson Airplane's "White Rabbit," hits every stinking note, and chills you to the bone? DudeÉ that's like Ma Ford. Solid, electrifying local rock is further spectacular-ized by an energy largely propelled by lead vocalist Alex Ford. Where she was simply mewling before, now she is pelting notes with the velocity of a sledgehammer. A truly exciting development, this. Also, you'll benefit KPSU (1450 AM, always). JS

DJIN TEETH (FANGS), SHATTERVILLE, MOTHER SIBERIA, AMERICAN NIGHTMARE, THE FORMLESS
(Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside) Certain trends in local music are fascinating to me--for instance, the proliferation of liberal Xtian hiphop, the widespread acceptance of noise bands, the cult of Get Hustle. Another thing we see a lot of, for practically no rhyme or reason other than Portland is bike punk capital of the world: gypsy punks like Djin Teeth (Fangs), who put a vaguely Eastern European slant on DIY instrumentation, a mini-string section, and a loping, 3/4 crash and clatter, like a waltz of mischief or funeral pyre. Unless Portland is home to a lot of Moors and I don't know it, the gypsy thing is a phenomenon unto itself; either way, Djin Teeth (Fangs) are tops. JS

THE DISTRACTION, CHAMPION, BORN LOSERS
(Twilight, 1420 SE Powell) So Cal's the Distraction may seem just like one in a line of pop-flecked punk bands, but I had one of those "moments" listening to the spastic act last year that will forever elevate their status in my book. Their powers doubled when their debut, Calling All Radios, yanked me from the depths of taking care of an injured sweetheart (long story) into a world of rock 'n' roll girls, hijacked hearts, and inner engines running like racecars. Maybe it was the Distraction's madness for lighting the basics of punk rock in a powder keg of the young stud strut--whatever it is, it works. JM

SUSHIROBO, HYPERSTAR, OLIVER, PALATINE HILL
(Tonic, 3100 NE Sandy) As a vegetarian, I'm not too stoked on sushi. As a human, I'm even LESS stoked on fakes. When Sushirobo first came out of the gates, they were rip-off Dismemberment Plan, right down to the squiggly funk hump bass, jungle drums, and Travis Morrison's curvy-road voice. Crappo. But never fear; S-Robe has since taken their D-Plan aping and shaped it into something original--mad scientist, new-wave freakery, smart AND funny lyrics, and a well-produced fluidity that is anguished yet smooth, like Kanye sipping on the sizzurp through his mangled, wired maw. AG

SUNDAY 4/4

QUANNUM WORLD TOUR JUMPOFF: BLACKALICIOUS, DJ D SHARP, DJ SHADOW, JOYO VELARDE, LATYRX, LATEEF & THE CHIEF, LIFESAVAS, LYRICS BORN
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Feature pg 12

THE LEGENDARY COLD CRUSH BROTHERS: GRANDMASTER CAZ, DJ TONY TONE, DJ CHARLIE CHASE, DJ AD, PLUS GRAND WIZARD THEODORE
(Berbati's Pan, 231 SW Ankeny) See Feature pg 12

COCOROSIE, DAMIEN JURADO, EUX AUTRES
(Disjecta, 116) A sister act sans the highbrow high-larity of Whoopi Goldberg, Cocorosie is the work of Bianca and Sierra Cassady. Some people think they are French, but they might be from Brooklyn. You'll have to ask them to find out. Whatever the origins, the duo's first album Maison de Mon Reve (Touch & Go) is a strange, disarming folk beauty. The music they make is like field recordings from a land where the plantation is overrun by thrift store gypsies. When Sierra sings, she belts it out like an operatic Buffy St. Marie. When Bianca sings, she sounds the offspring of Devendra Banhart and Billie Holiday. How she sings like that and barely moves her mouth is truly a miracle. JON PRUETT

MONDAY 4/5

IRON & WINE, HOLOPAW, PATRICK MCKINNEY, DJ DICKEL
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music pg 20

TUESDAY 4/6

BUCK 65, DJ SIGNIFY, HURT BIRD
(Ash St, 225 SW Ash) A member of Cincinnati's revered 1200 Hobos crew, DJ Signify is responsible for such classic mid-'90s mix discs as Mixed Messages and Signifyin' Breaks. Like the best hiphop DJs, Signify's all about the funk and weird juxtapositions (his collection will give you vinyl envy). He lends equal value to scratching prowess and weaving in humorous/profound spoken-word snippets and psychedelic atmospheres. For example, on Mixed Messages, he drops a Booker T. & the MGs nugget before Can's "Halleluhwah," then furiously scratches over that while a Zen philosopher drones on about Nirvana--and you hear the logic. The pan-stylistic joy permeating Signify's mixes is absolute; Signify's the best damned jukeboxer you never heard. His new album, Sleep No More (Lex), begins with John Cage talking about why a supposedly good God lets evil exist and then gets deeper, submerging stark funk rhythms in a psychedelic soup that's eloquently stirred by MCs Sage Francis and Buck 65. DAVE SEGAL

THE VOLUMES, CLOROX GIRLS, THE WILLOWZ, DJ AMPHETAMINE BLUE, DJ BACKSTREET BRAT
(Grand Central Bowl, 808 SE Morrison) Fuck the fickle music flacks who are so done with garage rock because, you know, after the White Stripes and shit, it's all so over. Yeah, the genre's pretty saturated, just like they all are buddy, and then you pick up a disc like the self-titled debut from the Willowz, it's a reminder of what gets people so damn jacked on garage in the first place. There are the tambourines rattling like rims about to fly off an old Mustang, vocals so snotty they should come with Kleenex, and so many killer tracks that just smack you upside the head like the mic of an overactive frontman. If you're into the whole Clone Defects/Black Lips madness, you've gotta see this show. JM

AZURE RAY, THE ELECTED, OKKERVIL RIVER
(Berbati's, 231 SW Ankeny) Azure Ray used to be clean white sheets billowing on clotheslines, rotting gray porch-boards, grass-stained bare feet, and a limeade (spiked with rum) clutched in summertime sweaty hand. Simple music. Barely-played acoustic guitars. A touch of breathy keys and a grand HUM of vocals--part shoe-gaze, but folky like Elliott Smith pre-DreamWorks deal. However, their new record, Hold on Love, is all that plus trip-hop, which is no good at all. Here's hoping for a late-summer return to restraint. Not all bands can go "dance" on us. AG

WEDNESDAY 4/7

STONE JUICER, PILLOW FIGHT, THE MOTIVE
(Grand Central Bowl AKA The Peach Pit, 808 SE Morrison) Pillow Fight is a punk band from Hollywood, California, that looks very LA (Gwen Stefani-looking front woman and all). Their music is abrasive and has a "we party all the time" vibe and Gwen II's vocals are scratchy and tough-girl. All this, however, completes the 90210 ambiance that is created when you're watching a band in a bowling alley. I mean, like, you might start dancing really badly and then hook up with some guy who wears too much hair gel. KS