SABALA'S ANNIVERSARY WEEKEND KICKOFF W/BIG BUSINESS, NO RED FLAGS, THE PHENOMENAUTS, MORGAN GRACE (Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Big Business (Ex-Karp, Ex-Murder City Devils) start up the celebration tonight in what promises to be three solid days of a howling mad rock onslaught. You see, Sabala's turns one year old this week and they want you at their party. Big Business kick out some über-heavy hook-laden riffage tonight, Friday brings the sick churning of Unsane, and I'll be screwed, glued, and tattooed! It's the soul boogie slam of the mighty Detroit Cobras on Saturday! You've got to be fucking kidding me! You'd better pace yourself or you're not gonna make it though. LANCE CHESS

BRITISH SEA POWER, DERBY (Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Last year's British Sea Power show didn't sell a ton of tickets. It hardly mattered. They played with more passion and vigor than most bands do in a packed house. It's these type of performances where you get a glimpse into a band's real connection with their music. BSP cares. Deeply. Without this fire, bands don't play encores. They don't end up in a tangled pile of guitars, cables, keyboards, and bandmates. And without the fire, they certainly don't make another trip across the Atlantic. But BSP's devotion is apparent, especially in their newly released album, Open Season. It does exactly what a second album should do: dare to grow. And by God, they did. None of this pop blueprint garbage (eat shit and die Killers, Bravery, et al.). This is intelligent, fad free rock. And these boys are smart. I can just see them in smoking jackets, reading philosophy and getting tuned up on good scotch. But before things get too stuffy, they kick on the amps to be soothed by a more primal instinct: mind-melting walls of loud melodic sound. ANDREW TONRY

AL DIMEOLA (Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Al DiMeola graduated from jazz's vaunted apprenticeship program, a talented teenager sharing stage space with Chick Corea and Stanley Clarke in the fusion group Return to Forever. He has since evolved to master status, playing improvisational instrumental jazz with invigorating flair. With a few exceptions (most notably his unfortunately smooth 1991 album Kiss My Axe), DiMeola's recorded output has remained solid, mostly due to his unceasing experimentation with diverse world-music inspirations. Live, he dazzles connoisseurs with a rotation of vintage guitars while entrancing audiophiles with his inimitable techniques and the almost-alien tones they produce. ANDREW MILLER

LOW DOUGH SHOW W/ GROOVIE GHOULIES, 800 OCTANE, BLACKOUT RADIO, THE JACUZZI BROS. (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) With a seemingly inexhaustible supply of monster-movie lyrics and pogo-punk hooks, the Groovie Ghoulies surge into their second decade. More than any other active group, the Ghoulies conjure the ghosts of the Ramones: Same three-chord barrage, same mix of electric doo-wop balladry and crackling rockers. The Ghoulies even cover "Pet Semetary" on their recent re-issue Monster Club, ensuring that the Ramones tune will live its life again despite Joey's clearly stated request to the contrary. AM

MOMMY AND DADDY, VANISHING KIDS, BLACK HORSE, SEX WITH GIRLS, DJ SEW WHAT (Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) I must admit that despite a few good recommendations I've heard about Mommy and Daddy, I've remained skeptical. After the glut of over-hyped New York '80s-skewed bands we've all endured, hearing about an electro-punk duo from Brooklyn isn't really making me want to go shout from the rooftops. Keeping that in mind, they're not too bad. The twosome whips through three-minute exercises in cowbell heavy trash-rock with boy/girl vocals and mechanical pummelings that recall Big Black or Metal Urbain. If you can track down opener's Sex with Girls' Bands CDR it would behoove you to do so. I never thought it would be so funny to hear two dudes with only a bong and four-track doing a capella tributes to bands like Rush and 31 Knots. JOSH BLANCHARD

RX BANDITS, STEEL TRAIN, FACING NEW YORK (Solid State, SE 9th & Ash) RX Bandits play ska-pop, an endangered-at-best genre. Another of the group's albums falls out of print with every record it releases, a scenario similar to an animal covering its tracks with a tail broom as it makes fresh footprints. But as long as America remains politically problematic, the Bandits won't run out of ammunition. Ska always sounds chipper, but this band saddles its brassy melodies with dense diatribes about capitalism and government control. It's crust-punk rage dressed in a checkerboard suit. AM

MIRAH, WET CONFETTI, HORNS AND CLAWS, TWO PERCENT MAJESTY (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) So why is it that, with all this talk of the new traditionalist acoustic revival going on, most of these revered artists seem to be popping up out of metropolises like New York and L.A? We live in Oregon for Chrissakes, home of pine trees, hot springs, the Country Fair and the birthplace of Ken Kesey. So shouldn't we have a legion of these coming out of the woodwork by default? Thankfully we do have a group like guitar and violin duo Two Percent Majesty (or 2 PM for short). Closet hippies, Kyla Cech and Ryan One serve up songs about sharks and space birds on their new record Sea Mummy. The album is a pleasant collection of sparse, sing-songy numbers that invoke strumming indie bands like the Vaselines as well as with more melancholic folk influences. JB

BLACK LABEL SOCIETY, MELDRUM (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Zakk Wylde must never sleep, with the exception of bender-induced stupors. The most prolific, if not the most prominent, of old-school metal's unrepentant hard-partying cavemen, Wylde records and tours as Ozzy Osbourne's go-to guitarist and plays almost every instrument on his Black Label Society records, which he churns out almost as quickly as he slams down shots. On his recent release Mafia, Wylde stretches his voice, supplementing his Southern-rock snarl with upper-octave yowls and grave gritty tones. He alters his ax attack, shrouding songs in a wah-wah haze and finding compelling vehicles for his virtuosity. When even the piano-powered ballads sound solid, Wylde is definitely going through changes. AM

OLIVER CD RELEASE, THE DIMES, TRAIN GO SORRY, EXIT 51 (Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) If judging on press kits alone, one would think that there was no such thing as a live show that wasn't "dynamic" (except for those that were "impassioned," "high-energy," or "amazing"), Luckily, I have a press kit translation dictionary which decodes such lofty claims into a more believable, "they play music in public." My dictionary also translates "large range of influences" to "dudes w/soul patches trying to sound like they have tormented souls." If you'd like to support "one of the hardest working bands in the Northwest," then, by all means, check out The Dimes. They write "compelling and innovative songs." Of note: Oliver actually does write compelling and innovative songs, though if they quote that for their press kit, they'll sound like douches. Tonight's show marks the release of their new EP, Coming Back In Waves II: Bury Memories. Hooray! KIP BERMAN

DAMON AND NAOMI, JACKIE O MOTHERFUCKER, COLOSSAL YES, DJ NATHAN CARSON (Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Galaxie 500's Damon Krukowski and Naomi Yang made public their plans to retire from music after their celebrated band broke up. That was 1991, and thank god they stuck with it because their new album is damn fine. The Earth Is Blue (lame title, but whatever) furthers the sort of work they did with Japanese psych-folk band Ghost, spindling out thoughtful, spacious, warm folk music. It's weird and trippy enough that critics have included them in the BBC-dubbed "New Weird America" scene, country enough to be DJed alongside the new Bright Eyes record (the acoustic one), and lays down a gorgeous, non-obvious cover of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." So, forget the retirement scene. This's where it's at. Growing older--and weirder--with grace. ADAM GNADE

UNSANE, DITCHLIQUOR, HELLSIDE STRANGLERS, DIESTO, BLACK ELK (Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Metal fans, don't miss this show. Unsane combines the sludge, the riffage, the unearthly yowling, the distortion, giving you a live musical version of the Apocalypse. There is undoubtedly a method to this madness. KATIE SHIMER

SIBERIA, MUSTAPHAMOND, SKIN CULTURE, THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH (Hotel, 503 W Burnside, 8 pm) These innovators of hardcore cross blast beats with dance-oriented structure as well as improvisation, making this showcase a revealing night of the rewriting of hardcore as we know it. The essence of the creativity here comes out of North/Northeast Portland's petri dish of experimentalism and underground basement shows. Mustaphamond plays what may be the last event with their present roster, a group who have consistently displayed expertise, pure enthusiastic energy, and incredible ideas in the form of a sheer, bombastic spree of sound. Skin Culture weaves a multitude of layers into the blast beats, and are a total party. Bring your own tambourine to tap with your leg, because it won't stop moving. AMY VECCHIONE

GLASS CANDY, DANAVA (Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th) The Towne Lounge is the latest Portland hipster haven as evidenced by tonight's headliner, fashionista art-rock band Glass Candy. Revel in the synthy rehashing of the '80s, enjoy the parade of Portland's studied anti-fashion, and for God sakes, don't take yourself (or this show) too seriously. KS

DETROIT COBRAS, TELEPHONE, NICE BOYS, GOODTIME GIL & THE CHAMPAGNE COWBOYS (Sabala's, 4811 SE Hawthorne) See "My, What a Busy Week!" pg 9.

M. WARD, DAVID BAZAN, NORFOLK & WESTERN (Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See "Music," pg 29.

SHAWN MULLINS (Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) You might remember Shawn Mullins from his 1998 ode to L.A.'s empty heart, "Lullaby." The song's premise was that L.A. totally sucks for true artists tryin' to make an honest buck and that the children of the stars have it SO rough and that... jeez, let's all fall in love because there're only devils in this angel town. Whatevs. That song's been written and recorded in a million different forms by a million different L.A.-romanticizing folks, and will be so carbon-copied until the end of time. (Or whenever L.A. finally does something good and falls off into the ocean.) So what's up with Shawn nowadays? He cut his long, flowing blonde hair, for one. But... that's it. No new music. (Since 2000!) No nothin'. AG

MOBY, BUCK 65 (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Moby, Mobe, Mobes, you're letting us down! Just in time to make a thundering, wide-reaching protest statement, you release Hotel. One half of the record is vague, upbeat modern rock, the other half is gutless, ambient techno--the kind you shat out with Play. Come on now, Mobius. What happened to the politicking, vegan restaurant-owning, activist punk Moby? Did Eminem get to you? Did big-time celebrity get to you? I know you still got heart. Just last week--I have on unimpeachable authority--you were at the PETA headquarters in Norfolk, Virginia, meeting people and giving out tickets. If anyone, you have the funding and the massive audience to do something good with your fame and influence. But Hotel? Dude. Please. It's not worth your--and our--time. Come back to us, Moby. It's not too late. AG

THE SUN, ROLLING BLACKOUTS, PUMA FRENZY (Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Rolling Blackouts is one of those great bands that are great to listen to if you don't pay much attention to what you're hearing. The swaggerin' Stones influences are great. The hulking Sabbath riffs are great. It's just great. But look deeper at this echo of old rock 'n roll and you won't see anything, just an echo--air, reverberating sound, and not much else. Still, if you want a band that's the equivalent of trash TV, something to drive around town to, get drunk to, turn off your brain to--something that doesn't require much intellectual attention, Rolling Blackouts are your boys. And I'm not being sarcastic. Sometimes you really need a band that's just a fun, mindless listen. It's great. Just great. AG

DAMIAN MARLEY, STEPHEN MARLEY (Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Before Bob Marley went to the great reggae-fest in the sky, he fathered 2,478 sons. There's Ziggy, who you may remember from the '80s smash hit "Tomorrow People," David, who's done his share of reggae making, Pablo, Petey, Bingo, Jeffy, Jojo, Weed, Patrice, Corky, Shamu, Ted, Bob Jr., Bob Jr. Jr., Bob Jr. Jr. Jr., Bingo II, Bilbo, Dirk, and... You get the picture. Look up the rest online. BUT it should be said, sons Damian and Stephen, unlike that deadbeat Tuber Marley or the sell-out Kevin Marley, are keeping the reggae torch burning, turning out solid, respectable jah jams that would make their daddy proud. Yep, unlike boring old Alan Marley who now does taxes in Sea-Tac, Washington. He's just blown it. That's all I have to say about that. AG

SNOW PATROL, EMBRACE (Roseland, 8 NW 6th) The Micks have done it again! Glasgow's Snow Patrol makes orchestral, ornate alt-rock jams that sound like Coldplay--though Coldplay with actual, living, breathing humans behind the guitars and drums. Their latest record Final Straw is loud, thick-layered, and has the heavy, throbbing shoegaze heart of My Bloody Valentine. With a name like Snow Patrol, and the fact that they're from the UK, you might imagine an icy, spectral, distant superband like Radiohead, but Final Straw couldn't be further from it. This is all humanity and fever and flourishing sound bursting, breaking, and rushing down the green valley like a flood from the biggest busted dam ever. AG

LOWER CLASS BRATS, DEFIANCE, CLIT 45, THE HOLY SHITTERS (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd) Some look at '70s punk-rock style (Mohawks, safety-pin piercings) as pointless peacockery. Others endorse it as a willful refutation of any society that wouldn't hire people donning this attire. Lower Class Brats fall into the full-time fashion set, wearing the same dingy duds on stage and off. Their music makes no concessions, either, staying true to streetwise Oi! riffs and extending a middle finger to the Warped Tour caravan. Appearances aside, the Brats are not Brits. They hail from Austin, Texas, where they've made it their mission to eliminate insufficiently gritty genres. Emo and indie-pop groups still survive, but they certainly scamper to the other side of Sixth Street whenever they hear the Clockwork Orange-obsessed Brats hum "Singing in the Rain." AM

MAGIG MARKER RECORDS SHOWCASE W/THE LUCKSMITHS, TULLYCRAFT, ALL GIRL SUMMER FUN BAND, ANDREW KAFFER (Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) See "Music," pg 29.

MERCURY REV (Aladdin, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See "Music," pg 29.

PIGFACE, SHEEP ON DRUGS, NOCTURNE, VOODOU (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Pigface should be considered more a collective than a band. Producer Martin Atkins came up with the concept back in 1989 of bringing together a huge party of A-list rock celebs to make whatever the hell he wanted to make at the time. The product, despite Pigface's pigeonholing as "industrial," has been wide and varied. Along with people like Steve Albini, Jello Biafra, Flea, Lydia Lunch, Trent Reznor, and John Lydon, Atkins has done everything from trancy E-head ambience to dorky Fat Boy Slim Mazda commercial techno, to gratingly beautiful, concrete-heavy noise. For a balanced look at Pigface's sprawling discography, check out the 35-track-long, The Best of Pigface: Preaching to the Perverted. AG

BURY YOUR DEAD, IF HOPE DIES, THE RED CHORD, A LIFE ONCE LOST (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd) Though it's already a sub-genre, metalcore breaks into a number of splinter sounds, all of which are represented on this bludgeoning bill. Bury Your Dead blends tough-guy vocals with concrete-cracking breakdowns, The Red Chord tempers violent velocity with jarring melodies, A Life Once Lost contrasts gorgeous aesthetics (stunning album-art, poetic lyrics) with whiplash-inducing chord changes and crime-in-progress shrieks, and If Hope Dies is the show's sledgehammer-swinging jester (sample song title: "Roddy Piper's Magic Sunglasses"). Let the mosh-pit martial arts exhibition begin. AM