EDDIE SPAGHETTI, THE BLUE DOT, MICHAEL DEAN DAMRON (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Good ol' fashioned fun--that's been the punk/rockabilly/clang-around outfit Supersuckers' mantra since their inception 'midst the dry Tucson plains in 1988, and they've pretty much stuck to it. Tonight, lead singer Eddie Spaghetti (a name I hate perhaps more than all others) flies solo on the heels of a typically messy-but-fun covers album, The Sauce (a name I hate perhaps more than all others, except perhaps the aforementioned name). But let's not jerk each other around--covers and awful names be damned, this is drinkin' music, pure and simple, and if you come expecting anything else I'm going to kick you in the teeth. JUSTIN WESCOAT SANDERS


METALUX, CARLOS GIFFONI, HYACINTH, MIKA MIKO (Food Hole, 20 NW 3rd) See Music, pg 23

PERNICE BROTHERS, ROYAL GUN (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg 21

VON IVA, IZABELLE, DEATH BY DOLL (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Much of what gave 7 Year Bitch their aggressive sex appeal in the mid-'90s was the electric, antagonistic stance of über-foxy front woman Selene Vigil. But all of Vigil's panther-like stage prowls wouldn't have been nearly as seductive without the guttural rumblings emanating from the bass of the band's primary songwriter, Elizabeth Davis (now Davis-Simpson). After 7 Year Bitch's demise in 1997, Davis-Simpson relocated to the Bay Area, hooked up with drummer Lay Lay von Guthier, and formed Clone, a short-lived, dark and twisted disco outfit. Davis-Simpson continued to work with Guthier, a collaborator who shared her drive to fuse Motown soul, vintage disco, and hard rock into the sweaty, catchy, and compulsively danceable sound that would eventually become Von Iva. HANNAH LEVIN


THE ACCUSED, MUNICIPAL WASTE, ANNIHILATION TIME, AMONGST US (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) They may have been down, but the Accused will remind you they never fell out of fashion with their dedicated minions. After two decades of slaying thrash metal and punk rock--and coining the resulting carnage "splatter rock"--the internationally known Northwest ruffians are releasing their first CD since 1992, Oh, Martha! What's it sound like? Like a band on whom time takes no toll--in fact the years have only sharpened their shrapnel. Martha bruises like Motörhead and Slayer swinging with brass knuckles--as tough as a roadhouse brawl, as fast as a getaway car, and unapologetically down-and-filthy brutal. But if you know the Accused, you already knew that. JENNIFER MAERZ

JACKIE-O MOTHERFUCKER, GRAILS, THE STARVATIONS (Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) The maudlin minds of L.A.'s Starvations band may imagine life as one long sowing of the grapes of wrath, but that mentality never swallows up their hearts. Like their closest spiritual kin, the Pogues, this band turns tales of drunks, poverty, shady women, and suicide into bawdy stein hoists. Since their 1998 inception, they've been one of the most maddeningly underappreciated acts on the indie map, partially due to the fact they've had trouble securing a consistent lineup. The current crew is fantastic, though, as is their third and latest CD, Gravity's a Bitch (GSL). The slashing greaser anthems "Where Was I?," "Nightshade Sweats," and "Lost at Sea" move with a ragged rockabilly rush, perfected on "One Way to Remind" that surges like a creaky Clash. It all goes by too fast--11 songs in 26 minutes--never getting sufficiently lost in those spookier moments, leaving Gravity feeling like a fine stopgap instead of the giant leap they made from the first to second CD. ERIC DAVIDSON

WANDA JACKSON & THE MARSHALL WARNER BAND (Bossanova, 722 E Burnside) Renowned as the queen of rockabilly, Wanda Jackson's career began in 1954 and hasn't abated since. In the last decade she has finally gotten her due, being cited by a younger generation of women in rockabilly, including Rosie Flores, as a strong influence. Seeing her live isn't a nostalgia trip, but a direct line to a powerful performer who still plays like hell and wears her living legend status lightly, preferring to let her music prove it. NATE LIPPENS

FEMI KUTI, DAARA J (Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Femi Anikulapo Kuti is the son of Fela Anikulapo Kuti. Fela, a Nigerian who died in 1997 of AIDS, is considered to be the most brilliant African musician of the 20th century--brilliant because his music and personality were big and burned very brightly. Fela was married to 30 or so women, his songs (an intoxicating mix of African and black American rhythms) often ran for 30 minutes, and the lyrics of these songs were almost always political--critical primarily of the West and the Nigerian government. Fela was Africa's first and only rock god. It is not wrong to place him in the same class as Bob Marley and John Lennon. It is also correct to place Femi Kuti, his son, in the same class as Ziggy Marley and Julian Lennon. But where as Ziggy and Julian have failed to be anything other than the sons of rock gods, Femi is on the verge of becoming Africa's second rock god. Part of the reason for this is, as a young man, Femi played in his father's orchestra, Egypt 80, and so was groomed to become its leader. Femi is also a serious and accomplished saxophonist (he owes much of his technique and sound to John Coltrane), and his love for music can't be doubted. I'll take one soft step and say Femi is a better musician than his father; and take another bold step forward and claim Femi loves music more than his father. CHARLES MUDEDE

MARY TIMONY, VIVA VOCE, LKN (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 19


CIRCA SURVIVE, EMANUEL, EVER WE FALL, THE BELMONTE ACADEMY (Solid State, 898 SE Ash) Circa Survive pairs soaring child-like vocals with amazing orchestral instrumentation. There is something young and innocent about their music, but also, their latest disc Juturna is meticulous and goes in a hundred different directions without ever sounding like crap. They're an emocore band with some intense motivation, and they should be congratulated for that with your emo-loving presence. KATIE SHIMER

FEVER THEATER FUNDRAISER FEATURING SOME BY SEA, SLEEPY PEOPLE, WOW & FLUTTER (High Karate House, 917 NE Prescott) The good folks at Fever Theater--whose last production, Like A Five Wheeled Bicycle, was some kind of crazy-fun, psychedelic romp through Fantasyland--also specialize in cool fundraising events. Tonight's lil' function has a music/dance/party theme and features the lush, underrated strings/keyboard act Some By Sea, the Prekop-esque pop stylings of Wow and Flutter, and the debut of Sleepy People, a synth-drums band poised to take this town by storm. You heard it here first. JWS

THE OUT CROWD, THE HIGH DIALS, ABANDONED POOLS, ROSS GOLAN & MOLEHEAD (Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) It seems unfair that every mention of local psych heroes, the Out Crowd, must first relate that singer/songwriter Matt Hollywood was a founding member of the Brian Jonestown Massacre. What strikes me as even more unfair is that Hollywood, an equally capable songwriter as his more famous former bandmate, rarely receives credit for being the genuine talent that he is--due, no doubt, to his (thankful) lack of a rockstar persona. I know Anton Newcombe makes a better documentary topic, but, as this is the music section of the paper, the Out Crowd's Then I Saw the Holy City is a highly satisfying exploration of sobriety defying sound, needing no "ex-members of" or "R.I.Y.L." to legitimize its worth. KIP BERMAN

ROCK 'N' ROLL CAMP FOR GIRLS SHOWCASE (Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 19

TURIN BRAKES, WEST INDIAN GIRL, SOME BY SEA (Doug Fir Lounge, 830 E Burnside) The kind of sleepy-eyed British pop music that only Astralwerks is able to make seem vaguely respectable, folk-y duo Turin Brakes are yet another in a long line of aesthetically pleasing, across the pond bands (see: Keane, Travis, Coldplay, Athlete, ad infinitum) that are virtually indistinguishable from one another. Soulless, halfhearted pop owning more to James Taylor than Nick Drake, this is England's upscale answer to Jack Johnson--a place where quiet is the new loud, and tepid is the new standard. ZAC PENNINGTON

YELTSIN, TOM HEINL, MIKAH SYKES (Acme, SE 8th and Main) Tom Heinl could easily get work in Vegas impersonating Johnny Cash--he's just got that kind of voice. But the similarities between Heinl and the Man in Black end there. You could call Tom the Man in Flannel, or maybe The Man in Shag Carpet; for he walks the line between comedy and country, singing songs about three-legged dogs, ingrown nails, and three-way sex. Best of all, Tom performs most of his set through a cheap old karaoke machine, singing along with homemade cassette tapes. (His recent album is available in "Stereoke"--the second side reprises the songs, sans lyrics.) During the show he adds some guitar and occasionally props his keyboard on his trusty old rocking chair. He does characters too, but we'll leave them to be discovered. ANDREW TONRY

WORMWOOD, DITCHLIQUOR, ALDERBARAN (Ash Street, 225 SW Ash) Though it can all sound the same to the layman's ears, Wormwood's take on the (very) heavy hardcore metal doom and fury is probably a little underappreciated. The Seattle band mixes it up with non-"traditional" instrumentation for the genre, and hints at its other influences before plunging straight into the anger and bombast. It's not like it's going to suddenly change your girlfriend's mind about whether she is a metal fan, but if you're discerning enough of a connoisseur to notice what their doing, you'll want to check them out. MARJORIE SKINNER


2 LIVE CREW (Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) By today's standards 2 Live Crew's As Nasty As They Wanna Be ain't all that nasty, and "Me So Horny" has lost most of its edge. So why should you go to this show? The Jell-O wrestling, of course. Take a night off from staring at internet porn and watch real live ladies roll around in real live Jell-O. This is as pairing a fitting as a Taco Bell seven-layer burrito and a 40-ounce--which is to say it's good, in a very bad way. KS

BOB DYLAN (Les Schwab Amphitheater, Bend) Oh God, do you really want to read another glib little quip about this grizzled cartoon character, whose voice is so ravaged by cigarettes and terrible singing he can barely squeak out a legible note? You do? Really? Seriously? REALLY!? Well, okay then. JWS

MOTLEY CRUE, SUM 41 (Clark County Amphitheater, Ridgefield, WA) See Music, pg 23

VINCE NEIL, TRI-POLAR, VELABONZ (Barracuda, 9 NW 2nd) See My, What a Busy Week! pg 19

NICE NICE, ANNEXIA, ERDON FOSCIL, DJ BRIAN FOOTE (Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) I've admittedly lost some interest in downtempo funk/triphop since their mid-'90s heyday, but bands like Foscil remind me that this style still ain't ready for history's scrap heap. The Seattle quartet's self-titled debut album (due August 10 on Fourthcity) brandishes their rich instrumental palette and impressively warm, organic production. Much of Foscil is as moving and coolly moody as Portishead or DJ Krush's works. These guys can play, as well as move waveforms on a screen, and that deft, jazz-wise touch distinguishes Foscil from most in their genre. DAVE SEGAL See also Music, pg 21



MINUS STORY, MODERN STATE, LELESTEVILLE (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd Ave) Jagjaguwar records is one of the more impressive indie labels around, releasing post-punk goodness like Wilderness, heavy-duty stoner fare from Black Mountain and Oneida, and the melancholy pop of Minus Story. Like some of the Saddle Creek catalog (Now It's Overhead comes to mind), Minus Story create slightly offbeat, kinda sad, and mind-blowingly beautiful indie-pop songs. Like when they contemplate a somber state ("Joyless, Joyless"), they conict that sentiment with blossoming harmonies, celebratory electronic melodies, and a marching band's worth of upbeat instrumentals. Arcade Fire fans, take note. JENNIFER MAERZ


THRIFT STORE COWBOYS, CUSPIDOR (Sabala's Mt Tabor, 4811 SE Hawthorne) Though Sabala's calendar calls tonight's event Honky Tonk Tuesday, I can hardly think of anything quite so un-rootsy as Lucas Bernhardt's Cuspidor--a subtle, plaintive solo bedroom pop project recently augmented with a full band. Pure, simple, and perfectly Portland, Cuspidor may be suspiciously twang-less, but certainly no worse for the wear. ZP


ALLISTER, PLAIN WHITE T'S, VENDETTA RED, BAYSIDE, SCHOOLYARD HEROES (Loveland, 320 SE 2nd Ave) A brief overview of Seattle teen scene idols the Schoolyard Heroes: at least three quarters of the band appear well below drinking age--though all told, that may be just because I'm feeling exceptionally geriatric these days. The band are oft-compared to both the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and Pretty Girls Make Graves for no other reason than that singer Ryann Donnelly--who sounds like a beauty pageant contestant with a vocal coach channeling Geddy Lee (or vice versa)--is a charismatic, attractive woman. On the contrary, SYH shred all Iron Maiden under songs about werewolves, serial killers, centaurs, and zombies. It has also been said that Ms. Donnelly has perfected a rather nuanced impression of yours truly, which I have yet to witness in person. Vendetta Red, in brief: with post-ATDI hair (and few skills to match), Vendetta Red have been reduced from major label (Epic) hopes to multiple page adds pedaling MP3 players that aren't iPods. How emo is that? ZP