THURSDAY 1/8
NEIL DIAMOND
(Rose Garden, 1 Center Ct) See My, What a Busy Week!,
NUDITY, ANCESTORS, NIGHT HORSE, DUDELORD, DJ HUGH HESHNER
(East End, 203 SE Grand) See review
REBIRTH BRASS BAND
(Mission Theater, 1624 NW Glisan) The Rebirth Brass Band are longtime practitioners of the New Orleans tradition of the "second line," which outgrew its origins as funeral music to combine regimented band marches, loose Dixieland jazz, spicy Crescent City funk, and soulful Delta blues—all rolled up into an irresistible combination that, if it doesn't compel you to dance, will at the very least make you swagger a little bit. Trumpet, tuba, trombone, and sax weave improvised loops around one another while snare and bass drums thwack street-walkin' rhythms. It's celebratory music, pure and simple, and unwavering in its purpose. Although you might find a dreadlocked hippie shimmying next to you in the audience, this is a fine way to shake off some winter doldrums without buying a plane ticket. NED LANNAMANN
THIS BIKE IS A PIPE BOMB, GRASS WIDOW, HERE COMES A BIG BLACK CLOUD, DESTROY NATE ALLEN
Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) True story: In 2006 an Ohio University police officer became alarmed after spotting a bicycle with a sticker reading "This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb." The school and surrounding streets were shut down as a bomb squad was called in to pry open the bike with the Jaws of Life. No bomb was found, but another entry was secured in the big book of punk rock lore. Pensacola, Florida's This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb has been dishing up twangy punk rawk (think the Mekons) for more than a decade while maintaining its firm political-mindedness. The band released its latest, Convertible, this year, a record that weaves real-life tales of social injustice, crooked cops, and the justice system in general (e.g., "Roscoe Arbuckle"). While I don't see the new material receiving any backlash (their anti-hometown song "Board of Tourism," with lyrics of "We kill abortion doctors/We've got albino squirrels," is said to have nearly got the band sued by the City of Pensacola), I am positive that This Bike Is a Pipe Bomb doesn't need any press to get people's attention. MARK LORE
HORNET LEG, VAGINALS, BITTER SOBER
(Crown Room, 205 NW 4th) San Diego's Vaginals are plowing through town to bring a whole new meaning to our Keep Portland Weird schtick. Some might equate their unpredictable havoc with overindulgent noisemaking, while others have crowned them living legends in the underground West Coast avant-garde music scene. Lead visionary La Cochina pounds the drums looking like a crazed Latina Amy Sedaris, adding quirky humor throughout—song titles include "I Like Cuddle Boner" and "Top 40 vs. Top Ramen." Meanwhile, rotating members of the group mutilate homemade keyboards. Though their setup time usually surpasses the standard 10-minute grace period, stand patiently, for their aftermath will surely give you something to talk about. EM BROWNLOWE
FRIDAY 1/9
BITCH MAGAZINE BENEFIT: KIMYA DAWSON, MIRAH, ANOMIE BELLE
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!
RIVERCITY BLUEGRASS FESTIVAL
(Oregon Convention Center, 777 NE MLK) See My, What a Busy Week!
BRIGHTBLACK MORNING LIGHT, DANIEL HIGGS, PLANTS
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) As far as I am concerned, Daniel Higgs cannot levitate, cure cancer with his massive beard, or conjure any such grand miracles. But the onetime Lungfish frontman has a legacy forever etched in our collective minds—looming large behind the mic as an enigmatic prophet, a baffling showman with deep roots intertwined at the very core of punk rock's long-forgotten promise, and as inspiring as any single artist in our lifetime. Like the Don Van Vliet of the Dischord generation, Higgs creates music on a far different plane than his contemporaries, whether it be the snarling MC5-esque stomp and glory of Lungfish, or the gradual calm and experimentation of his recent solo work. Surely he is a creature of flesh and bone, but when it comes to his musical creations, Daniel Higgs is a motherfucking golden god. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
DWARVES, ZEKE, BLACKOUT RADIO, LSD&D
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) What else can be said about Zeke? For close to 20 years, their translation of the rock 'n' roll gospel has pummeled our slice of the free world with chainsaw-surgical precision. On a pissing gray sky kind of day—when you drive I-5 North a couple hours until that acrid, yellow pollution smell starts creeping and you look over to see the tired Tacoma Dome and all the smokestacks with their plumed serpents in perpetual hover—it suddenly makes sense that this is the ooze from which Zeke crawled out back in the early '90s. The uglier rock bands ascend from the uglier places. And, like the best of them (Motörhead, the Angels, Fear, the Supersuckers), Zeke will likely never get their proper due. But have they a shit to give? Doubt it. JUSTIN PETERSON Also see My, What a Busy Week!
THE GASLAMP KILLER, PRETTY LIGHTS, BENHIBUBU, J. ROBY
(Crown Room, 205 NW 4th) Los Angeles' favorite drum butcher the Gaslamp Killer has been making a helluva reputation at his hometown's globally exalted weekly beat mecca, Low End Theory. Killer's mixes of dirty psych, dirty South, and just plain dirt are said to be a homi-sychedelic beatdown for the ears, and his beard is reportedly a lush, verdant garden of delights. I can only confirm the former, as I've peeped a couple of his mix CDs and managed to have been both amazed at the depth of his crates, and repeatedly bludgeoned by them. Go see him. LARRY MIZELL JR.
LADY DANVILLE, THE WEATHER MACHINES
(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) The music of Los Angeles trio Lady Danville is clean, clear, and straightforward. It's like that floppy-haired guy who lived down the hall in your dorm, that excitable, freckle-faced kid who was in the college a cappella group and who laughed at all the dumbest jokes. Lady Danville's ballads are earnest, a little goofy, and entirely unflappable, without a trace of self-consciousness. Their MySpace page hosts covers of MGMT and Lily Allen, done in sensitive balladeer mode without anybody's tongue in anybody's cheek. For a dose of something more vital—not to mention rocking—look to openers the Weather Machines, who are completely incapable of playing a note that is anything less than pop-tastic. With the release of the Bones & Brains EP, they are perched high atop the power-pop heap, making some of the catchiest, most fun music around. NL
CASEY NEILL AND THE NORWAY RATS, ASHLEIGH FLYNN, THE TACITURNS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The band describes itself as a melding of rock, folk, and punk, with a Celtic influence. As if that's not enough of a mouthful, singer Casey Neill's voice tosses a little country sound into the mix, throwing his creation—along with backing band the Norway Rats—into a downright thick stew of genres. The band's 2007 release, Brooklyn Bridge, evenly displays the many musical paths that have brought Neill and his "riffraff" to their current formation: A balanced mix of ruckus and melancholy ballads, their set list takes you from a galloping hoedown to a quiet piano bar in the East Village. Sure, it's hard to pinpoint exactly where Casey Neill and the Norway Rats will land, but the skillful and soulful rendition of every tune will have you following them from mood to mood. KAITLIN JOHNSON
SATURDAY 1/10
QUASI, EAT SKULL, THE GOLDEN BEARS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week! and review.
RIVERCITY BLUEGRASS FESTIVAL
(Oregon Convention Center, 777 NE MLK) See My, What a Busy Week!
THE CHICHARONES, BRAILLE, RAISE THE BRIDGES , NIGHTCRAWLERS, JON THE BAPTIST, ERD
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, and Once More with Feeling.
JAKE OKEN-BERG
(Jimmy Mak's, 221 NW 10th) Much of the time, Jake Oken-Berg co-fronts lush popsters the Retrofits, and his solo EP, Find Love, expands on the Retrofits' vintage tunesmithing with an ear toward the future. These are gentle love ballads led by Oken-Berg's piano, and it's comfort food of the musical kind; Oken-Berg deals with death and loss in a compassionate, caring tone, and his songs celebrate the importance of hope in the face of bad situations. Despite the sensitive-guy sheen of many of the songs, Find Love never becomes overwrought, and Oken-Berg never fails to sound unpresumptuous and heartfelt. It's emotional music, without a trace of irony. NL
ASVA, BLACK ELK , SUBARACHNOID SPACE, TREES
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Not too long ago, you could almost hear noise-rock glossolalists Black Elk, fronted by David Yow-tongued Tom Glose, accepting the Jesus Lizard as their personal lord and savior. The Portland act's 2006 debut full-length spoke in baited jolts of fisty tri-tone and muffled vocals, fresh from the pre-Yeah Yeah Yeahs Touch & Go catalog. But one wondered: What would a godless Black Elk sound like? Always a Six, Never a Nine, the band's new CD, worships at no altar. Early track "Hospital" maintains re-established sledgehammer propulsion but branches its lead guitar like a space shuttle disintegrating over blue skies. Later, "Brine" opens the gates of hell beneath moody acoustic picking; as the band dissolves into a blackened doom nightmare, they sound legitimately scary, for once. MIKE MEYER
ROCK 'N' ROLL ADVENTURE KIDS, THE BUGS, HOWIE & THE HOTKNIVES, HEY LOVER
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) Berkeley's Rock 'n' Roll Adventure Kids have been swirling their middle fingers around the rim of Northern California's tumbler for almost a decade: melting its ice, salting its contents with their bitter fingerprint, savoring it like the classy lot of punk rockers that they are. Having survived on the small club and house show circuit in their formative years, the band has finally been bequeathed with legendary accolades—in the underground garage circuit of the East Bay, anyhow. And what better barometer for integrity than the sentiments of the dwellers in a musty garage? But I'm getting off topic here; Rock 'n' Roll Adventure Kids are one of the most fun rock crews on the West Coast. Bring your dancing shoes and expect to sweat. RYAN J. PRADO
SUNDAY 1/11
RIVERCITY BLUEGRASS FESTIVAL
(Oregon Convention Center, 777 NE MLK) See My, What a Busy Week!
MUSEE MECANIQUE, SABERTOOTH, HEATHER BRODERICK, RITCHIE YOUNG
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Musee Mecanique make pop music fused with an ambient sensibility: The vocals are hushed, the pace is stately, and the keyboards are surprisingly warm and welcoming. Their debut Hold this Ghost, led by songwriters Micah Rabwin and Sean Ogilvie, retains a shoegazer's fondness for sustained tones and atmosphere but takes a turn into the baroque. This is neatly adorned, precisely arranged music that owes a debt to multiple eras but belongs to none in particular. And there's a thematic boost as well; when Ogilvie and Rabwin sing about spirits and the ethereal, the digital hum behind them works perfectly. TOBIAS CARROLLMONDAY 1/12
GLASVEGAS, CARL BARAT
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See review
THE OLD BELIEVERS, BLACK HEART MOON, ST. FRANKIE LEE
(Valentine's, 232 SW Ankeny) Recently I came to the realization that this paper probably owes a written apology to Al James and Dolorean for lack of coverage on the stellar You Can't Win album. So while I'm taking out the nice stationery, I might as well address one to the Old Believers also. Sure, we wrote about their flawless album, Eight Golden Greats, but it doesn't feel like we devoted enough ink to this duo's lovely vintage pop sound. The warm and hospitable vocal overlap of Nelson Kempf and Keeley Boyle sits confidentially atop an inspired instrumental backdrop of rustic folk, muted beats, and even the occasional lone pair of clapping hands. Those willing to devote some time to Eight Golden Greats are rewarded with a disarmingly simple and sincere recording that has lingered throughout the past few months—soundtracking so much making out in the summer, so much breaking up in the winter—that it would seem as if the Old Believers are now a permanent part of our very lives. EAC
TUESDAY 1/13
SOULS OF MISCHIEF, BUKUE ONE, ALPHABET STEW, SERENDIPITY PROJECT
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Conventional wisdom, I'm told, holds that Souls of Mischief's only good album is 93 'til Infinity—not counting the various solo projects from A-Plus, Opio, Phesto, and Tajai. Well, I'd like to buck this notion and call attention to their 1999 cassette/vinyl-only Focus, which was an exercise in just that. Hard, grimy, lost-in-space production and ground level road-sage observations came together for one of my final favorite tapes of the millennium. I am reminded of this vibe when I hear "Tour Stories" off of their upcoming LP—a fact that is hopefully consistent with the new album's title, Montezuma's Revenge—because any Hiero head will tell you, Souls of Mischief are the shit. LM Also see My, What a Busy Week!
WEDNESDAY 1/14
SIX: STRATEGY, GROUPER, CLOUDBURST, GASP, MAP MAP, JETFINGER, DJ SIX BROKEN WINDOWS
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!
REVEREND PEYTON'S BIG DAMN BAND, THE CLAMPITT FAMILY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) A three-piece from Indianapolis, Reverend Peyton's Big Damn Band comes from a similar place as the likes of Scott H. Biram: the overlap between punk rock freneticism and musical traditions close to a century old. The songs heard on 2008's The Whole Fam Damnily summon up fingerpicked guitar and washboard percussion, but their lyrical concerns—including health insurance ("Can't Pay the Bill") and chain stores' impact on small business ("Walmart Killed the Country Store")—are immediate, contemporary, and delivered with righteous anger. Reverend Peyton's vocal approach has something of D. Boon's standoffish frustration, and the band's intensity is unflagging. TCCARCRASHLANDER
(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) The careful, deliberate rock of Westfold makes full use of an expansively big canvas, like a mural that takes up the entire wall of a room. The band unhurriedly metes out portions of post-rock, indie pop, baroque prog, and radio-friendly metallic fuzz rock to concoct slow potboilers with lots of legroom. Aristeia is similarly ponderous, but instead of painting the wall, they open a window onto a broad vista of instrumental flight through mountains and valleys. Carcrashlander makes darkly melodic pop of the interior variety; pianist/songwriter Cory Gray inhabits a headspace of affecting analysis, and his marvelous songs trudge through the emotional turmoil of everyday life while pinning their hopes on transcendence. NL
