THURSDAY 8/19

THE COURT AND SPARK, DOLOREAN, CALL AND RESPONSE
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Call and Response just popped their own bubble with this year's melancholic sounding Winds Take No Shape, but don't be sad, kids. The Californian quintet's new approach stops short of the cheery, jazzy twee they've so calmly championed over the past three years for a reason--the band understands ye olde concepts of "balance" and "flexibility." Smiles are worth more when they're turned upside-down once in a while, yes? C.A.R. haven't completely morphed into sad pandas, but gone is the majority of the band's Partridge Family-style co-ed vocal riffage, which barely works for the ever-cheery Polyphonic Spree (but has historically been the signature characteristic of C.A.R. and excellent folks like Mates of State or The Like Young.) Instead, expect bossa-nova beats, gloomy sentiment and deliciously farty synths from the group, whose ethereal new stuff is deep, man. While you're there, do congratulate bassist Terri Lowenthal on the birth of her first baby chile. JOAN HILLER

DEAD MOON, TELEPHONE, DRIVE
(Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) When Portland's old, hard rock darlings (Dead Moon) team up with Portland's new, indierock darlings (Telephone), it sounds more like a grudge-match throw-down than a concert. But these two bands have more in common than you might think. Both rely on genre heavy clichés to produce music that is simultaneously nostalgic and forward. If you've never heard either band, go to the show and be prepared to say when you leave, "Wow. That was way better than I thought it would be." MANU BERELLI

GENE LOVES JEZEBEL, RICK BAIN, THE UPSIDEDOWN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) I understand why Joanie loves Chachi, and why misery loves company, but I never got why Gene loves Jezebel. Let's investigate. In ancient Gnadeian (it's a dead language) "Jezebel" means "naughty girl," which if "Gene" is a "Simmons," totally makes sense. Only GLJ never sounded like KISS, more like The Cult. But long tongues and wearing out your welcome with too long careers will only get you one thing: mired in a convoluted "Up and Coming"--nary a coveted Mercury moosik feature in your future. I blame the terrorists. Or the Willy Week's taste in music coverage. Or Ace Frehley. What a stupid name. ADAM GNADE

ANNIE LINN, KRIS RACER, JEREMY ROURKE, PATRICIA JU
(Rabbit Hole, 203 SE Grand Ave) It's always a good bet that a stage name such as Kris Racer substitutes for a Scrabbletastic surname that would clutter a marquee. In this case, the Kris in question also answers to Narunatvanich. But it's fitting that someone with songs this immediately accessible would want to keep things simple. Like Chris Carabba, this former Tagline frontman made the move from punkier sounds to acoustic weepers, finding paradise by the Dashboard lite. As an added bonus, the shaggy-haired, bespectacled beanpole Racer sports neither a fauxhawk nor tattoos, allowing him to maintain his Napoleon Dynamite-style underdog appeal. AM

SCOTT SMALLWOOD
(Contemporary Crafts Gallery, 3934 SW Corbett Ave) Like poor Timmy Tinypecker, Scott Smallwood probably took his share of razzing back in the grade-school days. Kids can be so cruel. But Smallwood carries a big stick. He's currently a doctoral fellow at Princeton, with prestigious degrees from other universities already in hand. He's also an experienced studio engineer and a classically trained pianist, a prolific performer who composes concerts and crafts dance beats when not collecting field recordings of cicadas and running water. At this performance, he'll be working his laptop, adding electronic enhancement to Jennifer Mesch's complex choreography while Portland-based improvisers Joel Taylor and Jonathan Sielaff help stir the sonic soup. AM

SONIA DADA
(Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Arena tours would be so much more fun if all bands would employ the Sonia Dada approach, reinstating the original vocalist while keeping the replacement. There could be Genesis with Gabriel and Collins, Van Halen with Diamond Dave and speedin' Sammy, and Faith No More with Courtney Love and Mike Patton. Old-school Sonia singer Sam Hogan returns from his hiatus on 2004's Test Pattern, where he joins his capable counterpart Shawn Christopher for funk-infused jams, acoustic laments, and raucous R&B. All of these numbers get an exhaustive overhaul live, where Sonia Dada's sweat-soaked soul really shines. AM

FRIDAY 8/20

DAVID BYRNE
(Oregon Zoo) See My! What a Busy Week! Pg. 21

GET HUSTLE, SHICKY GNAROWITZ, SAPROPHYTE, DJ JP
(Stumptown, 128 SW 3rd) The Cinema Project need a little dough, so they're throwing a party. And what's a party without silent era films? Find out what happens when The Fall of the House of Usher is given a live soundtrack by hyper-energetic hipster party band the Get Hustle. Or how about Menilmontant as interpreted by Shicky Gnarowitz and the Transparent Wings of Joy's dusty bohemian elegance? Sounds intriguing, no? Plus there's a DJ, raffle, beer, and Portland's most dangerous street drug: Stumptown's "Hairbender" roast. MARJORIE SKINNER

KIESKAGATO, BAN VENAI
(Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) Ban Venai appear to be a happy band with their bouncy guitar licks and lyrics about spacemen. The vocalist sounds a bit like David Bowie and even seems to be affecting a British accent, though that may just be me projecting because I wish I had a British accent. JWS

NATALIE MERCHANT
(Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall, 1037 SW Broadway) Ten years ago, Natalie Merchant abandoned the band that made her famous, 10,000 Maniacs, and went solo. Musically, her independent venture has had more downs than ups. Her image, however, has been consistently fascinating. Ophelia, her solo debut, transformed the Merchant we knew (a sensitive college chick who gives advice to dead writers--"Hey Jack Kerouac, think of your mother") into a femme fatale on a shell-shaped, sin-full couch. But nothing in the world could have prepared the public for the cover of Motherland (2001), which pictures Merchant as a ripe woman in the mood to make a big family with a man whose sperm is as heavy as the mountains and as hungry as the country. It is springtime, and she is sitting under a tree with a basket of fruit by her oval knees. Merchant's breasts are overwhelming there--ready to satisfy your pressing manhood and, later, feed your growing brood. CHARLES MUDEDE

SPACELORD, WALK WALK PINK
(Shanghai Steakery, 16 NW Broadway) It's high time somebody brought back a difficult edge to rock. Both Spacelord and Walk Walk Pink can actually clear the room, which is far more brilliant than getting a bunch of drunks to pleasantly nod their heads through your mediocre set. Spacelord plays epic, instrumental illustrations of inebriation. Teetotalers and dabblers tend to shirk. Walk Walk Pink heralds the apparent resurrection of LSD consumption with dark, intricate monsters of songs. Their concoction of atmospheric dissonance, vintage-y rock jamming, and meandering psych is almost exhausting to absorb, but is legitimately interesting. If more people knew of them they would make a great conversational litmus test: "Walk Walk Pink, yes or no?" MS

RAPTURE, MOGWAI, CURSIVE
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Music Pg XX

SATURDAY 8/21

GOODFOOT CD RELEASE PARTY FEATURING: TAARKA
(Goodfoot, 2845 SE Stark) The rapidly expanding Goodfoot presents its first in-house CD, Live at the Goodfoot, Volume 1. A highly ambitious endeavor, the two-disc set features select acoustic and electronic tracks compiled from over 600 recorded shows the club has in its archives. The acoustic numbers lean heavily towards the twangy (Jackstraw, Crosseyed Rosie), while the electro is all pretty jammy (Triclops, The Slip). As per usual at the Goodfoot, most of this stuff is the most fun live, so it's cool the album is live, though even crowd noise in the background doesn't recreate the pleasure of actually being in the crowd, dancing and sweating in that smoky, sultry basement. Regardless; buy the thing anyway. All the proceeds go to local charities Sisters of the Road, Ethos Inc., and the Forest Council. JWS

CEX, PORTLAND GENERAL ELECTRO, HOTT PINK
(Nocturnal, 1800 E Burnside) See Music, Pg 25

CHARMPARTICLES, THE TURN-ONS, CLIFF
(Ohm, 31 NW 1st Ave) I'm so happy the Turn-Ons are still a band and, as evidenced by their excellent new album East, still going strong. I doubt he remembers this, but I once worked with lead singer Travis DeVries at a literary nonprofit in Seattle called the Hugo House. I was the--get this--"building manager" and Travis was the part-time janitor. His band was just starting out then, and as part of his elaborate benefits package, he was awarded one night to use the House's performance space to play a show. As the building manager, I was supposed to monitor this event and set up for it. The show went well (all tight jeans and glamorous rock and roll) but I got in big trouble with the House's two blowhard female head honchos, who caught me sneaking away from the front desk area to go in and watch the show. From that point on, my summer at the House was a disaster, and at the end I left, never to speak to (some of) the people there again, and shortly thereafter, left Seattle for good. But DeVries was a good man, and the Turn-Ons are a good band, and if not for them and that fateful show, I don't think I'd be where I am today. JWS

CURIOSA FESTIVAL FEATURING THE CURE, INTERPOL, RAPTURE, MOGWAI, CURSIVE, AND MORE
(The Gorge at George, WA) For all of the jokes to be made at the deserved expense of the Cure, I've got to admit a tinge of disappointment at fact that they're not coming anywhere near Portland with their Curiosa tour. The last time I "saw" the Cure--on the unfortunate Galore tour--I enjoyed most the performance whilst hugging a stainless steel toilet in the sports arena it was held. Before that was the Wild Mood Swings tour, which just kinda goes without saying. When it comes right down to it, I don't think I've ever seen a good Cure show--which is to say, I will probably never see a good Cure show. And God knows, I'm not driving 200 miles to redden in the endlessly open expanse of an outdoor festival. But I bet that guy I saw at the Thai place the other day sporting a Disintegration T-shirt wouldn't miss it for the world. And I bet he's not alone. [Ed. Note: At press time, the Curiosa Tour has been officially, um, paused. For latest details, please see www.curiosafestival.com] ZP

DEMORALIZER, HOLLOWPOINTS, AMAZOMBIES, OBLIVION SEEKERS
(Twilight Café, 1420 SE Powell Blvd) Click on the word "blood" on Demoralizer's Web page, and you'll see animated dripping gore--with a link to the Red Cross donation form. Awww. These grizzled hardcore-punk veterans from Portland do have a soft side, though they have their limits. Tap the mouse on "ass face," for example, and you'll only get an insult, not a redirect to the hemorrhoid relief fund. Amusing antics aside, the site's strongest selling points are its songs, time-capsule thrashers that can fit three verse-chorus repetitions into a sixty-second frame, with guitar-solo room to spare. AM

THE HUNCHES, THE INTELLIGENCE, THE SHIVERS, KRAV MAGA
(Jasmine Tree, 401 SW Harrison St) See Music Pg 24

STEVE MILLER BAND
(Clark County Amphitheater, 17200 NE Delfel Road, Ridgefield, WA) When was the last time you reached down into the murky depths of your CD collection, down into the cracked jewel cases and scratched discs that you've had since high school, the ones you keep in the secret nook where none of your hipster friends can see them? Well, the last time I did that, I found Steve Miller's Greatest Hits, 1974-1978 and remembered that it is one of the best albums of all time. Every song is an evergreen classic, and if you pretend otherwise, you are lost. This album has never gone out of print, never been sold at a reduced price, and never existed in any form but the compact disc. There's a reason for that: It's essential. SEAN NELSON

SKITZO, ROSE MOYER, TALLBOY SHOTGUN
(I.C. Mummy, 332 NE San Rafael) See My! What a Busy Week! Pg 21

SEX POSITIONS, DAY TWO, MERCURY SWITCH, GASOLINE PLEASE, PHYSICAL CHALLENGE
(Davey Jones' Locker, ADDRESSS TK) Gasoline Please's new self-titled EP burns like a torched Kuwaiti oil well, Desert Storm, circa '91--with no Red Adair (RIP) in sight to put it out. Screamy, wild-eyed Swing Kids-y--the Locust ancestor, not the Nazi swing dance movie--vocals rumble head on with dark hardcore and a stage presence that's summed up verily in four words: Spaz The Fuck Out. Guitar riffs swell and pop like big, yellow zits on a mirror. Drums are pure sweatlodge therapy. If you like young bitches like the Blood Brothers, you'll be stoked on this. AG

VIRGIL SHAW, SONNY SMITH
(Disjecta, 116 NE Russell) With rickety piano licks and broken guitar plucks, Virgil Shaw and his supporting musicians comprise a pretty endearing modern honkytonk band. Bring the whiskey and the loneliness. JWS

SUNDAY 8/22

ME INFECTO, COUGAR, BASTINADO
(Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) While you don't hear their name flying around town all that often--or at least I don't--Bastinado rock. They combine the musical beauty of Guided by Voices, and spice it up with creative vocal goofing, and balls-out guitar jamming. They have a sound that harkens back to the beginings on indierock, but doesn't sound dated or ripped off. In short, I like 'em a damn lot. KATIE SHIMER

MONDAY 8/23

AIMEE MANN, THE HONEYDOGS
(Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) There's something about Ms. Mann's voice that assures my sometimes cagey confidence in female pop singers: it's steady, smooth, and rolls along each syllable in a velvety fashion, and best of all, her range is on the low side--kin to Liz Phair, Suzanne Vega, and the like. Aimee, however, came along first: less you forget 'Til Tuesday, the new-new wave dream rock group which Mann led through the mid-'80s, cautiously belting out "Voices Carry" while sporting the most incredibly Aquanetted hair of her time. She's come a long way since then, gracefully adapting to her musical environs without seeming jaded or old or any other awful adjectives too often associated with rock stars who have been at it longer than 10 years. LAUREN VIERA

TUESDAY 8/24

BLACK DICE, ANIMAL COLLECTIVE, JACKIE-O MOTHERFUCKER
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Brooklyn soundscape artists Black Dice's voyages to outer instrumental universes shuttle you through meteor showers of ebullient effects--rocky samples cascading across planes of minimal melodies and landing in the odd pockets of your mind. Live, the band is just as galactic--on their last trip through I swear their frequencies triggered nerves under my fillings--as they delicately drill into you with their distorted humdrum. Openers Animal Collective are equally skilled at blessed-out, psychedelic mind travel. JENNIFER MAERZ See Music, Pg 23

OTHER MEN MY AGE, THE BATS FROM THE PYRAMIDS OF EGYPT, ALMOST MILWAUKIE
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) Much like the soundtrack to an old style anti-alien invasion video game, the Bats from the Pyramids of Egypt have a goofy robotic hook. Spliced onto that is a retro, melodic pop that's catchy and a little dreamy. The combination is perfectly pretty and occasionally remarkably beautiful. MS

WEDNESDAY 8/25

HOMEGROWN, NAME TAKEN, DENVER HARBOR, ADELPHI
(Meow Meow, 320 SE 2nd Ave) Adelphi, from Towson, MD, play the kind of pop punk that actually should be on the radio, rather than that All-American Rejects crap (although I'm sure they're out of style already). Instead of just a jalopy, shrieky attitude-fest, these guys use tons of fun vocal interplay, big guitar riffs, and an amount of whining that captures the feeling of youth rather than the sound of a baby crying in the supermarket. They're playing on the Warped Tour, though, so they might have a single on Clear Channel soon enoughÉ god help them. KS

LAURA LOVE
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi St) In Ain't Got No Easter Clothes, singer/songwriter/jazz bassist Laura Love recounts a 1960s Nebraska childhood steeped in book-worthy drama, from a seasonally institutionalized mother to a dead-not-dead father, and the numerous orphanages, foster homes, shelters, and convents in between. Tonight, hopefully Ms. Love will read from her just-published memoir, stopping now and again to perform new songs written to accompany chapters of the book. DAVID SCHMADER

THE PEPPERMINTS, RAKING BOMBS
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) The first time I saw San Diego's Peppermints--piss-drunk in the kitchen of a crowded apartment--I was captivated by their junkstore dynamic, of pop and of abrasive punk, and walked away satisfied. It may have been the wine coolers. The second time I saw San Diego's Peppermints--stone sober in a bland rock club--I was totally bored. It may have been the Diet Coke. This time around, substance free, all bets are off. ZP

ROGUE WAVE, THE VELLS, LUKE TEMPLE
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music, Pg 25