THANKSGIVING, SOPHE LUX, RECALL-SEVEN
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Maybe blaming her Lilith Fair-ish name, I think I had local lass Sophe Lux pegged as some sort of Sarah MacLachlan for the new millennium. Meaning: terrible, ghastly, and most certainly a sign of the coming apocalypse. Instead, I discovered that Sophe Lux is a band, not a woman, that rocks a kind of waltzing, spectral, majestic Queen/Bowie thing. Occasionally they dip into soft-boiled Tori Amos-ian theatrics, but not often enough to make them suck. BRENT RICHARDSON
FUCKED UP, CRIMINAL DAMAGE
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) It gives me faith in Jade Tree that the historically emo record label continues its run of signing credible hardcore bands. Now, Fucked Up isn't actually fucked up sounding. They're not messy, experimental, or "art damaged" in any way. Instead, they play tight, practical, bullet-paced hardcore à la Lifetime. It's nothing new, but that isn't to say the band's not a thrill—because, like, they kinda are. BR
(Hovercraft Gallery, 328 SW Broadway) First Thursdays (Worst Turd-days!) can be boring, hella pretentious, and soooo artsy fartsy they make me wanna move to deepest, darkest Estacada and renounce "art." But not so much with the Hovercraft Gallery, which brings a li'l rock 'n' roll into the wine sucking, art snobby, cheese-dick mix. For this month's First Thurs, the 'Craft books pop-rockers Hey Lover, a two-piece band which merges the best of old school punk and co-ed singer bands like X and the Sharp Ease. Also, check out the band's art on the walls. They own Hovercraft tonight! Sweet! High five! GRANT MORRIS
THE VELVET TEEN, To live & Die In LA, Jr. Private Detective
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) See Music, pg. 21.
WE MADE THIS FESTIVAL W/ADAM GNADE + BAND, AUTOPILOT, SWALLOWS, CARK
(Ninth Ave Public House, 938 SE 9th) See Saturday's We Made This Festival Up & Coming.
JAPANTHER, THIS BIKE IS A PIPE BOMB, SHOW ME THE PINK
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Goddamn I am excited about this show. Japanther's from Brooklyn and they're a melting pot of good things. Less a catch-all than an enthused band latching onto everything that passes through its radar, Japanther busts through Lightning Bolt-crazy bass, '77 punk shout-along vocals, guitar that might be new wave or might just be naturally catchy. Above all, they love "the weird" and turn all sorts of it into new punk rock magic—magic that you can dance to, or just sit back and admire its originality. These guys are wizards, but try and look under their pointed caps and they'll tear your ass up. ADAM GNADE
SIERRA SWAN, ROCCO DE LUCA & THE BURDEN
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) I don't want to say singers like Sierra Swan are a dime a dozen but, shit homie, singers like Sierra Swan are a dime a dozen. I want to blame Fiona Apple, but there's probably a laundry list of artists that made crap like this "acceptable." Still, as silly and hackneyed as I think Swan is, I can't help but guiltily love her drama student piano pop. She does have a great (and big!) voice and she is totally cute (in a creepy way) so... I dunno, take that however you'd like. Guilty pleasure's still pleasure at the end of the day. GM
PORTALS, BLACK BREATH, USS HORSEWHIP
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) As far as funny, lowbrow song-titles go, USS Horsewhip wins big with "Amish Rake Fight," gets the bronze for "Bright Lights, Big Shitty," and is elected Miss Congeniality for "Jeff Mitchell vs Robocop." Who's Jeff Mitchell? Who frickin' cares when they throttle out metal-tinged punk so anthemically. I'm talkin' Social D-style pick scrapes, buried-in-fuzz vocals, the whole punkish punky punk-out. And in case you're wondering, the smokin' intro to "Jeff Mitchell vs Robocop" sounds like "RRRAAWWWW RRAW! YEAAH! YEAAAAHH! OWWWW! REEEAARRRR" before the band channels some killer Misfits steez. GM
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) I wasn't around to catch the Tubes in the '70s, at the apex of their performance art game, but apparently it involved loads of crazy characters, costumes, huge hair, and ridiculous leather 'n' whips mock-ups of the pornography industry. They've put out some interesting isolated tracks during their on-again, off-again, decades-long run, like the screamy, charging "White Punks on Dope" and the top-10 single, "She's a Beauty," but nothing they've recorded has ever been anything close to as interesting as those early stage spectacles are rumored to be. Now, they're one of those aging cult-y bands that doesn't even release original material anymore, but just tours relentlessly, paying their mortgages from the ticket money of aging geeks who refuse to die until they do. I imagine that nowadays they bring out all the old characters, play all the "hits," and that if you are not one of those aging geeks (or enjoy looking at middle-aged men in leather), you will sorely, sorely regret attending this concert. JUSTIN W. SANDERS
WE MADE THIS FESTIVAL W/ENCHANTED 4ST, ADVISORY, MORGAN GRACE, ARMAN AUGUSTO, THE SHOTGUN
(Ninth Ave Public House, 938 SE 9th) See Saturday's We Made This Festival Up & Coming.
AMELIA, LEIGH MARBLE, JIM BRUNBERG
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Don't let the Ani DiFranco comparisons scare you away; unlike the famously dour and didactic DiFranco, Marble actually has a sense of humor. His side-project, the bizarre and entertaining faux-rap group the Buttery Lords, manages to make mocking music that is listenable and sometimes even pretty damn funny. His solo stuff falls more along traditional lines, but he shows off his Ivy League roots with lyrics that go far beyond the usual "my heart is broken and the president sucks" junk that clutters up coffee-shop mics. Marble has said that he tries to sound like a cross between "Tom Waits and Fugazi," and, most of the time, he manages to pull it off. CORTNEY HARDING
HEY WILLPOWER, DO N DUDES, THE SNUGGLE UPS, DJ CLOUD, DJ MAXX BASS
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) This shit is sooo rad! Conjuring up gay sex (doin' dudes?) and role-playing games (DND, like, Dungeons and freakin' Dragons, yo) local boys Do N Dudes (Marius AKA Copy, Tim of famous Fleshtone fame, and Manny de el Fabuloso Atole), bust out some awesome, fun-times dance club beats. If Prince, Har Mar Superstar, and the ghost of disco (scary!) decided to do some fatty bong-loads in the van, then put on their tightest, whitest pants, this would be their after-after-party soundtrack. Tonight, they're releasing the totally sweet disco mix-tape, The Diva Mix-tape Vol. 2: DND, which features six smokin' covers of folks like Grace Jones(!) and Diana Ross(!). Sassy! GM
FAMILY UNDERGROUND, SHOPLIFTING, YELLOW SWANS, PROBLEMS, INCA ORE
(Disjecta, 230 E Burnside) This show bill is so powerfully good it makes me nervous. Makes me feel like a hunted rabbit or some shit, like I'll walk from my house in the deep, dirty SE, all the way across town, get to Disjecta and it'll all be a joke, a fuckin' ruse, that my favorite solo band in the world (mystical freedom-music maker Inca Ore) won't be playing with the genius noise killers Yellow Swans, that Shoplifting won't be coming down from Seattle, and that Denmark's Family Underground will just be some made-up faux band fashioned by evil honkies in LA, not the genius drones I'm so stoked to see live. Have you heard Family Underground? Fuckin' A. Search the internets (but don't get snared) and order everything they've ever released. AG
EGYPTIAN LOVER, JAMIE JUPITER, JAMMOTRON, DJ BEYONDA, DJ BROKENWINDOW
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
PINK FLOYD LASER SPECTACTULAR
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) I'm almost ashamed at how excited I am about this. I'm sure a lot of it will be cheesy as shit ("a giant inflatable comes to life") but give me "Comfortably Numb" (which they've promised to give and they better not flake) on that serious of a sound system, and it's on. It is on. AG
WE MADE THIS FESTIVAL W/EMBROWNLOWE, THE DECLINERS, THE TACTICS, THE VULTURINES
(Ninth Ave Public House, 938 SE 9th) Not only does local pop/etc act the Vulturines have a track on the We Made This, Portland local band compilation (this reason for the festival of the same name, natch) they've also issued a new album that's quite decent. Fowl Language (haw haw) has a reverb-drenched desert rock aesthetic. Think Calexico—then think again because, on their latest CD, Calexico recently castrated itself, losing the "desert" and becoming middle of the road. So, as Calexico lays on the floor, bleeding from its crotch, shaking, and crying for mommy, embrace the Vulturines, who are still young and cool enough to be "punk" (think Deerhoof) instead of "artistic." C-ya later Calexico, don't let the saloon doors hit you on the way out. Vulturines are the new sheriff in town. BR
IRANIAN FEST: FARBOD SEDEH & THE QUATTRO QUARTET, KAMAND, MIRZA JAZBANI, HOSSEIN SALEHI
(PSU Park Blocks) Iran has given me some of my favorite things on Earth. From Iranian dance music (with rhythms that sound like raves goin' down in space), to traditional folk and religious musics, to amazing cuisine and some of my best friends, Iran gives and gives. This year's Iranian Festival, the seventh of its kind, kicks down from 10 am-6 pm on the green pastures of Portland State University. It's a celebration of all things Persian. Check out art, feast on insane food, hear wild and ancient music; it's all right here. Dear US Gov't: Please don't blow up Iran. I know you want to, but fuckin' A. AG
GHOSTING, DEAD WHITE, VOMIT COMET, EYE MYTHS, HELLO SEYMORE
(Dunes, 1909 MLK) Ever been to space? Gumby has. Y'know that episode of Gumby when the green dude launches into the cosmos and has all kinds of special, cute adventures? The soundtrack was so rad! All ooohs and aaahs and clicks and booooings and interplanetary psychedelia. When Ghosting plays calm, it sounds like said Gumby episode. When Ghosting plays heavy, it sounds like the never-aired episode of Gumby where he accidentally knocks over a row of Harleys parked outside a biker bar, they topple like dominoes, and all the bikers come out ragin' mad and stomp him until he dies. GM
THE VELVET TEEN
(Music Millennium NW, 801 NW 23rd) See Music, pg. 21.
ORA COGAN, XH, BIRD COSTUMES, MATTRESS
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) The word "mattress" may give you images of discarded furniture, caked and reeking of dead skin and matted clumps of hair, but this Mattress couldn't be more different. From the lip-chapping desert air, a deep bold voice collides against ancient rock walls, stabbing icicles in the rubbery flesh of cacti while oozing sinister intentions across lizard flesh. Mattress is what Suicide would have sounded like as a blues band: confrontational, jolting, sinister, and somehow still dancy. Like more recent era Nick Cave low dark vocals meets old era Smog, pop with a lonely bedroom recorded desperation. Rex Marshall is a one-man rhythm ace of prison water torture repetitive beats and slippery Casio keyboard progressions. JAMES SQUEAKY
(Upper Playground, 23 NW 5th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
DIPLO, BONDE DO ROLE, CSS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Diplo has become something like the David Byrne of the global dance underground. He's developed into one of the trustiest bellwethers for various clubland subgenres, just as Byrne fruitfully scouted worldwide to fill his Luaka Bop Records roster. Whether training klieg lights on Baltimore club music and Brazilian baile funk, mashing up dirty south joints with new-wave nuggets, or providing beats for Sri Lankan/Anglo vocalist M.I.A., Diplo has ascended to a heady level on the DJ food chain, and hence has drawn many haters and accusations of sonic colonialism. But the Hollertronix cat has never disappointed in the five times I've seen him spin, serendipitously mixing the obscure with the ubiquitous and making them all flow like a (fever) dream. DAVE SEGAL See also Music, pg. 21.
INCA ORE, ME CON, HAIKU AMBULANCE, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) When I was a kid I used to hop around and whoop in my backyard, stomping through elaborate Indian rain dances to try and help out Southern California's kinghell drought. When it would finally rain—which wasn't often—I would tell my friends, "That was me. We have me to thank." Now that I'm older and not so optimistic (or deluded, egocentric, etc.), I know that I can't control the weather, or influence events unconnected to me with sheer willpower, intent, and wishing. Just the same, after getting my copy of The Birds in the Bushes, I wanted an Inca Ore show something bad. I prayed and wrote and asked around and sent smoke signals and wished and hoped and hoped and hoped. Man, I fucking hoped. Now this. Monday, August 8th is my favorite day of the year. Let's celebrate. Tonight's "Ladies' Night" at the Tube. Ladies get in free. Guys have to cough up $2. I'd pay a whole lot more than that. AG See Music, pg. 23.
PEACHES AND HERMS, EAGLES OF DEATH METAL
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) The unfortunate reality is that the new Peaches record isn't very good. Okay, I'll just say it—it's terrible. Her sly brand of raunchy electro-pop was a delicate balance from the beginning—she was always teetering on the edge of making herself the butt of her own jokes, or just running out of witticisms, so it shouldn't be much of a surprise that she's a little low on inspired vulgarity this time out ("Hurt so bad I got a soregasm" just doesn't really cut it). That being said, who gives a shit? I'm sure "Fuck the Pain Away" is still on the set list and packaging her with the Eagles of Death Metal was a brilliant move. I'm there. HANNAH LEVIN
US, HAUNTED BODIES, STATIONARY LEGS
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) In a post-Locust world, grind-core-influenced-punk has become as common as indierockers-gone-psychedelic-hippie (you know who you are). Some pull it off well; some sound like screamo garbage. The Sacramento/Chico-based Stationary Legs are most definitely decent. Combining ADHD song structure with grind violence, screamin' raptor vocals and squiggly, twitchy guitar metal, they are guaranteed to nasty-up this bill. Also be sure to check out Us, Haunted Bodies (that's one band name, FYI) who do a similar thing as Stationary Legs but do it duo-style. BR
KEVIN SHIELDS, PRIVY SEALS, TOXIC LOINCLOTH, EX JESUS, ANIMAL WRITES
(Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
MARRIAGE RECORDS SHOWCASE W/ANDREW KAFFER, PRIVACY, GRAND JUNCTION THERAPY, VALET
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) In the vast and mysterious realms of Awesome-Land, Honey Owens' solo proj, Valet, plays during all the coolest dream sequences and journeys into the misty forests near Awesome-Land's capital, Gnarly-City, and as meditation music while you're chillin' out before you battle the evil army of Bogus-Land. Valet's new record, Blood is Clean, will be your aural companion in this land of brave (but cursed) knights, poisonous (but fun!) mushrooms, and gorgeous, sweeping vistas with silver unicorns chewing their cud in emerald valleys. Let's hear it for ambient vocal music that says "We're picking you last for kickball" to clichés and typical song-structure and "Y'know, what? You're not half bad" to weird atmospherics. GM