TONY FURTADO, JACKSTRAW
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) I know nothing about Tony Furtado, but I found a record of his under a stack of old papers a few weeks ago. My favorite track on Grand and Failing pairs sparse, barely there steel guitar and accordion (or maybe melodica?) with a field recording of an old (sounding) man talking about moving to California, which is the title of the song. It's a great little story and a casually pretty thing, beginning with the line "My name is Sherman Loop and I was lived and raised in Anderson, Indiana. The reason why that I came to California or to the Northwest and the western country was on account of my health." From there we follow Sherman traveling across country, where early on his house trailer comes unhooked from his Model-A Ford and goes over the side of a mountain, destroying most everything his family owns. Then it's joblessness, arthritis, marathon drives, crop spraying, extreme poverty, work woes, and throughout all that a tough kind of optimism you don't see in people today. You probably also won't see this song in Tony's set, since it's more of an album segue than (what most people consider) a "real song." Regardless, it shows where the man's heart lies, and it's a good place, a place above fleeting pop-culture, insipid love-song lyrics, and flash-in-the-pan trend-demons. I know nothing about Tony Furtado, but I do know he's the real thing; that counts for a whole lot. ADAM GNADE
ONLY CRIME, NEW MEXICAN DISASTER SQUAD, 800 OCTANE, THE BULLIES
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See Music, pg. 21.
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 17.
LUCKY DRAGONS, WHITE RAINBOW, ATOLE, PASH
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) I used to find those "Keep Portland Weird" bumper stickers a bit forced, but lately, as our favorite watering holes are replaced by condos and the spirit of the Pearl District spreads throughout our city like a virus, maybe we should all be actively keeping Portland weird. No doubt the menagerie of musical oddballs playing tonight are already doing their share. The psycho-electric vibe channeling of White Rainbow is better therapy than a weekend at Brightenbush, and Atole has recently blossomed from a solo provocateur into a synth-driven quartet. As for Lucky Dragons... well, he's not really from here, but the Rhode Island-based laptop enchanter has his fingers in enough Portland pies that he might as well be. So, if you really care about our city's dwindling quirkiness, go grab a Voodoo Doughnut, hit a strip club, and then ride your art-bike down to the Towne Lounge tonight. JOSH BLANCHARD
BOOKS TO PRISONERS FUNDRAISER W/ANON REMORA, ORDER OF THE GASH, D'GUL, WARCORPSE, SQUALORA
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) This shit's gnarly, yo! Order of the Gash's intense, driving metal will totally slash you open, pull out your guts with a dirty claw, and jump rope with your intestines until they break apart and shit flies everywhere. Do you really need to know anything else? Portland metal, whut whut?! Also, they've totally got the best song title ever: "Quivering Cunt Muscle." Sexy! GRANT MORRIS
EVERCLEAR, JONNY LIVES, GOD OR JULIE, NEON CULPA
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Everclear? Awww, hell naw! WILL SMITH
OM, GRAILS, STEVEN WRAY LOBDELL
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 19.
STRIKE ANYWHERE, DRUNKEN BOAT, DISPOSSESSED, RUGARU
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 17.
MATTHEW DEAR, DJ PHILIP SHERBURNE, 31 AVAS
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 17.
TREES, SHEETS, JOSH HYDEMAN
(Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) I have learned a thing or two about a thing or two during the last few years that I've lived in Portland. Once: Vegan gravy looks and tastes like ass once it's cold. Twice: Folks blame the Californians, but really it's the Mid-Westerners. Three times a lady: Nate Carson promotes some of the gnarliest music in town and tonight will be no exception. TREES will be something like a math/jazz/doom collision with a dash of drones and eardrum-splitting vocals. The current lineup features Lenny Smith (Behalf), John Krausbauer (Tecumseh), Billy Holloway (The Better to See You With), and some dude named Cisco. Intrigued? Not only TREES, but Sheets (who is Scott Sloan and Sean Croghan), and Josh Hydeman. Don't make me learn your lessons for you. Check out what all is going on at Dunes tonight, and reheat your leftovers on the burner and not in the microwave. I promise you, your vegan gravy will taste so much better. SALINA NUÑEZ
PAUL CURRERI, KURT HAGARDORN, THE AHS
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Paul Curreri's brother Matt is one of my favorite music-makers of all time. His (Matt's) How to Play the Songs of Matt Curreri and Exercise Music for the Lonely are pure, crashy, rowdy Daniel Johnston folk-pop. His brother, then, is more like traditional Americana, and his songs come complete with a little bluesy soul, tight backing music, and Paul's excellent, Joe Cocker-ian rasp. AG
NICKY CLICK, KATASTROPHE, SHOW ME THE PINK, DJ BEYONDA
(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) Involved with the likes of Gravy Train, Veronica Lipgloss, and signed to Scream Club's label, Crunks Not Dead, Nicky Click has made quite a name for herself. Her songs are a display of honest emotion through lyrics that are easy enough for anyone to relate to, while laying down her feel-good take on feminist doctrine (and she drops one hell of a beat while she's at it). Olympia's own "queer electro diva" may have a simplified take on music, but she has a big message to deliver. Join the revolution. CRAIG TAYLOR
GENGHIS KHAN III, ORANGE SUNSHINE
(Dunes, 1905 NE MLK) Oh Dunes, you deserve so much better than this. Your blackened hall has hosted such a variety of amazing entertainment over the years, making it an essential Portland landmark of equal importance to the X-Ray or EJ's. So when you open your doors to the dregs of the retro-metal revival, I weep for thee. Yes Genghis Khan III, I know we all own the same records from the '70s. You've played them 'til they wore thin and replaced them with remastered CDs and ringer shirts from the mall and eBay. If only you could reach a little harder, and bring some life, some new idea, any shred of relevance to your carbon-copy rock. But you can't, can you? It's much easier to wallow in your hip threads and play the same riffs into the ground and drink and give in to your own mediocrity. Apologies to Orange Sunshine. They're from the Netherlands but they suffer the same mortal flaw. No one will ever be Led Zeppelin again. Not without at least trying to eek out a drop of something fresh or great. When it comes to classic rock, "good enough" quit cutting it about 20 years ago. For shame. NATHAN CARSON
CABINESSENCE, DUSTBOWL CAVALIERS, TIM SEELY
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Cabinessence feels kind of like walking down a rain-soaked street in the springtime as the sun warms your skin and reflects off the wet concrete while shining through the newly greened leaves 'til the glow overtakes your eyes and you can't quite see. Maybe like walking home after morning sex, before coffee and a day off. The band, whose members are split between Eugene and Portland, is named for a Beach Boys song from Pet Sounds. And though they certainly are like Brian Wilson, ever searching for the perfect pop song, Cabinessence is decidedly Northwest. Their angelic harmonies float between bits of country twang and mild psychedelia, creating a serene, warm glow. But it's not all flowers and sap—when the time is right the boys know how to burn up a harmonica or jam a little feedback. You know, that rush of the traffic and kick of the coffee. ANDREW R. TONRY
THOUGHT PATTERNS, FLUX CAPACITORS, THE ANXIETIES, COLONIAL VIPERS
(Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy) Oh hell yeah, the Anxieties! Or, as they put it, "Half-life, half-life, radiation nation YEAHHHH!" Punk rock that rumbles forward, somehow making songs about blowing up record stores and being bored sound fresh. Well, not fresh. Reliable. Not reliable like your mom's Ford Taurus. Reliable in that "if you get me drunk on wine, I will giggle stupidly at some point in the evening, while acting like I'm not the lightweight that I clearly am," way. Which is to say, this newly relocated to PDX group is goddamn FUN (and might make me want to hit on you). How much do I wish I could see these guys and Boris the Sprinkler on a double bill? JIM WITHINGTON
DEERHOOF, BLACKBLACK, LETI ANGEL
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg. 19.
MINILUWAH W/WHIP, PLANTS, ILYAS AHMED
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See The Scene Report, pg. 27.
LITTLE BRAZIL, LILLYDALE
(Berbati's, 10 SW 3rd) You know that kid in Little League that used to play right field, and then got moved into center—not because he was speedy, but because he was improving, and coachable, and smart? Seattle's Lillydale doesn't really arrive until "Here We Go (Again)," the fourth track on their upcoming release The Art of Becoming One's Own Shadow, but when they do, you'll want to give them a shot at starting, too. The song already has awesome back and forth male/female vocals; then the jangly pop drops out, leaving hand-claps and awesome close harmonies that would help out any local team. The album isn't perfect—there are some mid-tempo tracks with a lot of too-earnest, faux-anguished vocals, and some lyrical telegraphing—but when they use those male/female back and forth vocals, it gives me great-late-'90s-emo-pop shivers. Walk off your Monday blues, slugger! JW
DOSH, DJ TANT, BREAK CHARACTER, DJ KEVVITUP
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music, pg. 21.
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week! pg. 17.
BLACK BROWN, DOCTOR MOSS, DJ NATE C
(Tube, 18 NW 3rd) Black Brown used to be called "Nut Brown" (laaaaame name) and sweet Jebus do they pack a punch! We're talking a funky prog-rock punch that brings together killer elements of surf, death metal bass, old R&B soul (saxy sax!), stoner rock intros, metal licks, Mr. Bungle-y changes, and chiming, delayed-up post-rock. Let's call it funk-metal-prog-jazz-Zappafied-pop-math-core. Or maybe just "rad." Does that work? Okay, "rad" it is. Doctor Moss are pure prog in the way that you're a pure Portlander. Jam out! Funk out! Do it! GM
GET HUSTLE, ZS, YELLOW SWANS, SILENTIST, DJ JOE PRESTON
(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Usually I would go for the easy money on one of these write-ups and use some keen literary device, or bundle this show up nice utilizing adjectives like "darker side," "heavy," "dense," and "experimental." And most of the time I'd feel all right about it, and you'd probably eat it up. Or (more likely), it really wouldn't matter because you either are or are not going to this show, and all this listing does is serve as a menu/reminder. But not tonight. No, friends, tonight I've got a few beers under the belt, "Down on the Street" is playing loud throughout a deserted house, and I just smoked my lover in a game of cards (yes, this is what I meant by "bragging rights"). I feel fucking good, ladies and gentlemen, and I wanna be honest: I have no idea what Zs sound like. I haven't heard the Get Hustle since I was in high school (in the '90s!), and Silentist has been so different every time I've seen him (is it a "them" nowadays?) that all I could tell you for sure is that we borrowed his sleigh bells once for a few weeks. BUT, I will say this: Yellow Swans and their ilk has never been my bag. Maybe I didn't get it, maybe I thought it sounded too much like "Dusk at NE 15th & Alberta." That said, go and see them perform. Their hearts are pure, and the last time I was there they found and translated what it felt like for a lot of us to be alive in that corner of time. They said what wasn't being said, but was on everyone's mind. They acted as intermediaries, unifying all of us and whatever else was out there in the ether that night. And I tell you this: It made a lot of other shit seem real obsolete. Ah hell... well anyway honey, I have one more beer left and the lady's shuffling the deck for a rematch, but one last thing: Enough has been written about all of these artists that you'd be wise to just go check it out for yourself, because that's all that really matters. Aloha! O.RYNE WARNER
OF MONTREAL, MATTRESS, ENON
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 17.
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) I'm a sucker. Cute bands seem to be among the most successful these days—I blame the Boy Least Likely To, Camera Obscura, and Republicans for this—and it seems everybody's got sugar to rot your musical teeth. Gingerbread Patriots couldn't be a more apropos moniker for this group full of lilting, Grandaddy-esque, unison-and-some-harmony vocals, keyboards playing xylophone-style riffs, and simple snare-heavy drumming. Like the aforementioned bands, GP brings the cute right away, but upon repeated listenings, you start to find the subtle touches—breakdowns, curveball rhythm switchups, clever lyrics—that prove you love them for their minds, too. It's cute, it's catchy, and somehow, I fall for this every time. JW
MUNLY & THE LEE LEWIS HARLOTS, BRIGHT RED PAPER, STRANGERS DIE EVERY DAY
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Bright Red Paper could end up dominating Portland in a huge way. It's easy to get sucked in by their cello-driven, lengthy tunes with intricate, repetition-in-a-good-way grooves. Newly added singer Anna Byers adds yet another melody over the top of already tightly woven songs, further complicating things, making them interesting. Openers and fellow cello aficionados Strangers Die Every Day add violin to their mix in order to create menacing, rumbling soundscapes. An interesting bill that will certainly benefit from the small space of the Towne Lounge. JW
NEW YORK RIFLES, GIFFORD PINCHOT, EASTERLY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) With the New Yawk Rifles I know what you're thinking: "Geez, they sure do have a generic name, I'll bet they sound like a punk-by-the-numbers act... like someone trying to be Social Distortion, but not even half that good." Come on, you thought that... admit it. Well, I thought that until I heard their last record (Faraway Faster, released by Portland's own Empty Records) and realized leader Scott Young adds so much more inventiveness to the tired, old punk genre that you almost don't even wanna call it punk anymore. Hey, I said almost. Think more of Australia's mighty Saints duking it out with the Undertones and you'll be in the ballpark. Rock. TIM HINELY