THURSDAY 1/31
NADA SURF, PORT O’BRIEN
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!.
RED FANG, SCIENCE OF YABRA, DIESTO
(Dante’s, 1 SW 3rd) See Music Feature.
SOUTHERLY, MINMAE, THE MINOR THIRDS
(Kelly’s Olympian, 426 SW Washington) It’s easy for bands to get
caught in a rut—playing the same set night after night, poring
over every last note with a fine-tooth comb. But trying to brush out
all the kinks can leave things a bit sterile, which Portland’s own
Southerly are most certainly not. They proved it late last year while
writing, recording, and releasing a song a week. Though it appears the
band didn’t quite fulfill its stated goal—working continually
from September 11 to the New Year—the seven songs from the first
seven weeks are a testament to honest creativity and melancholic
ability. Most tracks waltz in solemn and pretty, colored by clean
pianos, atmospheric synths, buzzing guitars, and driven drums forced
inside by the dark, chilly Portland fall. More important than any one
particular instrument or lyric, though, is the airy spontaneity of the
project—a perfect portrait of a time and place. ANDREW R.
TONRY
AT DUSK, CHURCH, GHOSTIES
(The Know, 2026 NE Alberta) Ghosties is the nom de plume of Devin
Gallagher, a member of the impene-
trable DIY fortress that is Boy
Gorilla Records. Gallagher and his fellow gorilla boys are responsible
for one of Portland’s most promising record labels, in addition to
reigning over the house show scene, booking shows all over town, and
probably a dozen other generous activities (muffin baskets for crippled
orphans?) that we don’t have the space to list here. Musically,
Ghosties is a swirling mass of low-fi noises—ranging from digital
fuzz to gently picked guitars—all capped by Gallagher’s
charismatic vocal chirp. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
WE ARE WOLVES, REPORTER,
SWIM SWAM SWUM, DJ
NIGHTSCHOOL,
DJ PARTY ALL THE TIME
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) We Are Wolves are from Montreal,
Canada, and should not be confused with the now-defunct Portland group
of the same name. That said, these three Canadians are poised to
bring the post-punk party down to Holocene this Thursday. Their
sound is decidedly new school, but that isn’t a bad thing, combining
dashes of early Rapture or even Q and Not U. Moreover, sad as I was to
hear that Wet Confetti had dissolved as a band, their return as
Reporter ditches the art-rock sound for a looser, janglier feel with a
much broader mix of post-punk undertones, including a welcome hint of
’70s, Television-esque influence, and even some straight pop. I hear as
much Pat Benetar as I do Karen O in the voice of frontwoman Alberta
Poon, and this expertly handled throwback vibe makes me downright
excited to see how they pull it off live. Come dancing! HANNAH
CARLEN
PUDDLE OF MUDD, NEUROSONIC,
TYLER READ,
TEMPEREDCAST
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Bored Americans watching The Tonight Show
with Jay Leno last Tuesday witnessed the headlessness of
strike-affected TV: The show’s picket-line-crossing guests either had
no conscience (performing birds) or were simple, stupid creatures
(Puddle of Mudd). Unfortunately, it was the best thing on. Tonight’s
concert at the Roseland—name-dropped by Leno—is a similarly
bestial choice. Puddle Of Mudd’s current single, “Psycho,” rewinds band
mechanics back to a verse-chorus-verse Cobain stomp, with lyrics
rephrasing their own platinum-selling near-nü-metal fare
(“Control,” “Blurry”). It’s still doods vs. the world, but with
lovelier, grungier hair. Openers Neurosonic play shoddy glam with a
message: Ashlee Simpson bad, Disturbed with glitzy sheen good. Not
true. Their Drama Queen was one of the worst CDs of 2006, both
hypocritical in its overproduced attack on Simpson (“So Many People”),
and hookless, despite big-hammer tooling. Have fun at the zoo, but
don’t feed the animals. MIKE MEYER
DOUBLE DRAGON, RENEGADE,
MAO TONGUE
SECTION
(Ground Kontrol, 511 NW Couch) When white boys try to do soul and
R&B, usually one of two things happens: They turn it into a major
joke, like someone ironically covering Lionel Richie at a karaoke
night, or they’re Jamie Lidell, and just absolutely kill it. Double
Dragon, the vehicle for frontman Ryan Dolliver, falls somewhere in
between. The music sounds a bit fun and nerdy, but it’s clearly the
love child of people who passionately adore what they’re doing. The
results, by the way, are pretty damn great. The bass lines are funky,
the keyboards walk all over the place, and Dolliver has one hell of a
voice. Expect to hear much more from this band in the near future. ROB
SIMONSEN
(Berbati’s Pan, 10 SW 3rd) We get it. The Slants are Asian. The
Portland sextet has a boastful bio which constantly mentions it, all of
their press seems to hinge solely on that fact, and the band plays up
every possible stereotype by booking slots at anime expos and holding a
contest for an adorable pink Hello Kitty guitar. Much like a white
rapper with confidence issues, the Slants’ constant reminders of their
ethnicity seem forced, if not a little desperate. Much like any white
kid can rock the mic with the best of them, the concept of a few Asian
kids playing keyboard rock isn’t exactly mind-blowing, nor does the
experience lead to, as their bio puts it, “melting people’s faces off
with ‘Chinatown Dance Rock.'” Instead, the Slants offer another take on
the sterile dance rock made popular by Depeche Mode, the Faint, and
countless others who clutter the stage with an abundance of keyboards
and black clothing. While Slanted Eyes, Slanted Hearts (OMG!
Slanted eyes, because, you know, they are totally Asian!) was
released last September, tonight is another CD release, this time
celebrating national distribution for the album. EAC
FRIDAY 2/1
SLABTOWN BENDER: Head, Top Ten, Knights of the New Crusade
& more
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) See My, What a Busy Week!.
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Sometimes bands explode overnight.
Sometimes they are the sleeper hit of the season. Somehow, Derby has
succeeded at both. With one successful album out and another on the
way, there are enough hooks and good looks in this band to set up a new
alternative fuel source for the entire city. When I watch Derby live, I
often feel like I am watching what would happen if Paul Banks of
Interpol formed a band backed by Ben Gibbard & Co.: rock ‘n’ roll
sex appeal built on the most solid of songs and melodies. Plus, date
night has never been easier. Trust me. This show is cheaper than a
movie and three times more likely to get you to second base. ANDY
YOUNG
THE PATHOGENS, LOZEN,
THE HEADLINERS, TRIUMPH OF
LETHARGY SKINNED ALIVE TO DEATH
(Twilight Café and Bar, 1420 SE Powell) Tacoma’s Lozen are in
many ways the spiritual successors to the near-metal of the Need, who
raised the bar of Olympia music in the early Ladyfest days by staging
thrash and theater, and flipping time signatures for a lo-fi culture.
Lozen are headed down that same path, with certain tweaks in their
reference points (for starters, Black Sabbath instead of Metallica). In
their infancy, the duo of drummer/vocalist Justine Valdez and
guitarist/vocalist Hozoji Matheson-Margullis embody the weird, winding
guitars and ghoulish headset vocals of The Need Is Dead—a
high point for their defunct neighbors. Lozen’s “Unspeakable
Truths” seems reared on the Need’s “O Sally How’s it Feel with a Fake
Hand?”—nervous vocals unravel to mathematically minded guitar
riffs, heavy pedalwork, and crushing cymbals. According to Qui vocalist
David Yow (ex-Jesus Lizard), Lozen and Qui are considering doing a
split 10-inch together. Says Yow: “They make a hell of a noise.” MM
TANGO ALPHA TANGO, THE HUGS,
DREW
GROW
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) The Hugs are the band that you wish you
were in during high school. Or college. Or right now for that matter.
Visceral and earnest, their songs are further along than their playing,
and that’s a good thing. Everything from the Velvet Underground to the
Kinks to early Pavement is here, all being written by chaps young
enough to yet worry about declaring a major. Unless, of course, it’s
declaring which major label they want to sign to, in which case the
lucky winner is London-based 1965 records. Not quite a household name
yet, the label is the lovechild of James Endeacott, formerly of Rough
Trade records, who had the foresight to sign another young and eager
band called the Strokes a few years back. Can the Hugs embrace their
future as garage rock’s next big thing? I, for one, sure do hope so.
AY
SATURDAY 2/2
SLABTOWN BENDER: Livefastdie, The Pets, Buzzer, Les
Hormones, & more
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) See My, What a Busy Week!.
KIMYA DAWSON
(Music Millennium, 3158 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!.
BLACK MOUNTAIN, HOWLIN’ RAIN
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music Feature.
THE MAYBE HAPPENING, NICK JAINA, DAT’R (Rotture, 315 SE 3rd)
See Our Town Could Be Your Life.
SAMIAM, TILTWHEEL, FOUR STAR ALARM, OSAMA BEN WEASEL
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) See Once More with Feeling.
MOD MONTHLY: SKY SAXON, SUNLIGHT STARSHINE BAND, BENJAMIN
STARSHINE
(East End, 203 SE Grand) How long is it fair to trade on goodwill
earned off a great song written back in the ’60s? Forever, says Sky
Saxon of the Seeds. Now, you remember the Seeds, right? “You’re pushin’
too hard/You’re pushin’ on me,” went the chorus, shouted over and over
above that driving beat. It might’ve been the toughest song of 1966.
And though a few years later the Seeds would crumble, Saxon has kept on
pushin’, writing and touring consistently with a number of different
groups. Just days before he was to perform at last year’s Fuzz Fest,
Saxon gave his backing group the boot. After a band of local chaps were
assembled—including members of Benjamin Starshine, Strange
Effects, and the Nice Boys—the new lineup reportedly brought the
house down after just two rehearsals. And now, after a European tour,
they figure to be that much better. So maybe those good ol’ songs are
still worth something after all… ART
SUNDAY 2/3
SLABTOWN BENDER: Pierced Arrows,
Fe Fi Fo Fums, The
Nice Boys, & more
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) See My, What a Busy Week!.
BLACK DAHLIA MURDER, 3 INCHES OF BLOOD, HATE ETERNAL,
DECREPIT BIRTH
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See Music Feature.
MONDAY 2/4
DRUG RUG, OHIOAN, NATIVE KIN
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) On their first date, Sarah Cronin and
Tommy Allen ended up playing songs to each other over a bottle of
whiskey. They’ve since parlayed the relationship into a full-fledged
band and saddled it with the unfortunate name of Drug Rug. I know what
you’re thinking: Relationship bands rarely work, and when they do, the
results are often sickly sweet (Mates of State, the Captain &
Tennille) or creepily fucked up (Ike & Tina, the Captain &
Tennille). Drug Rug avoid these pitfalls by leavening their
declarations of love with low-fi exuberance, Stones-y country blues,
and Cronin’s baby-voiced screeching. Their self-titled debut is a
soulful, groovy, FUN record, packed with terrific songs and a gentle
exuberance. Tonight’s free show is the perfect chance to bask in the
reflected adoration the Somerville, MA couple has for each other, and
who knows? It could even get you vaguely excited for Valentine’s Day.
NED LANNAMANN
TUESDAY 2/5
THE BLACK LIPS, PIERCED ARROWS,
THE NICE
BOYS
(Dante’s, 1 SW 3rd) See Music Feature.
TODD SNIDER
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) According to the bio on his
website, Todd Snider’s wild younger years definitively ended when a cop
told him, through a bullhorn, to get off of the roof. Since then, the
Portland-born songwriter’s released a series of country-comedy albums
in the tradition of John Prine and Billy Joe Shaver. The results have
been mixed, but with a carefree attitude and enough liquor in the
belly, one can usually manage to suck some good times out of Snider’s
unassuming drawl. He’s not the hick that he plays in his songs, but his
storytelling eye is keen enough to eliminate any potential stink of
bullshit. Now Snider has a bar built on the roof of his home in
Nashville—a hearty middle finger to cops with bullhorns
everywhere. NL
BUTCHERED FIXATION, HYPHEMA, WITHEYESABSTRACT, BAYONET
HELL
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) Just one song—”Drowned in
Piss”—streams on Butchered Fixation’s MySpace page, but one song
(or title, even) is enough to convey what these guys are all about.
It’s a pretty short list: humiliation, technical riffage, pig-squeal
vocals, and Hamm’s. Par for the course with a name like Butchered
Fixation. But unlike your everyday grindcore “bree” ditty (as in, “bree
bree!”), “Drowned in Piss” is actually a guitar clinic of sorts,
boasting ridiculous fits of Marty Friedman-style solos over standard
perverted bleats and grotesque industrial sampling. Judging by the
T-shirts in the Portland band’s no-budget MySpace photos, we can thank
Seattle’s Drawn and Quartered for influential technique. It’s nice to
see metal staying in the gutter, no matter the proficiency. MM
BLOOD ON THE WALL, HORNET LEG, PHANTOM
JAMS
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Brooklyn’s Blood on the Wall are one of
the better things to have happened to
indie rock this decade. And
I’m not talking your Death Cab and Shins indie here: I’m talking the
bombast and balls-to-the-wall-edness of classic late ’80s, early ’90s
indie rock. Their sound runs the gamut of everything from Pixies to
Superchunk to Pavement to Archers of Loaf to Sonic Youth, and manages
to do so without ever really sounding derivative of any of them. Their
recently released disc Liferz is possibly their best yet, and
they’re bound to recruit a legion of die-hard fans (much in the same
way they’re probably die-hard fans of their influences) because of it.
In other words, there’s a good chance BotW are your new favorite band,
whether you know it yet or not. RS
WEDNESDAY 2/6
BEAT OFF
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See My, What a Busy Week!.
MARY GAUTHIER, MARC OLSON
(Lola’s Room, 1332 W Burnside) When making music as a solo artist, a
distinctive voice is key. Listening to anything from Mary Gauthier’s
recent Between Daylight and Dark makes this immediately clear.
There’s weariness aplenty, but it’s balanced by a deep-seated anger
that never quite goes away. Or, to phrase things differently, hers is a
voice that fits equally well beside a tautly played acoustic guitar or
an expansive Van Dyke Parks arrangement. Her delivery of a line as
archetypal as “Oh Lord, what have I done” (from “Snakebit”) is just
about perfect: Its halting cadences sound fresh, and yet the words as
they are sung fit perfectly within the context of the song around it.
Gauthier’s music, which draws from country and folk without falling
neatly into either category, stays both grounded and propulsive, and
it’s hard to turn away. TOBIAS CARROLL
EDITORS, HOT HOT HEAT, LOUIS XIV
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) There is nothing extraordinary about Editors.
Hailing from ye olde Britannia, Editors’ indie rock is solid enough,
punchy and quick, with head-nodding guitar/drum-driven hooks. Probably
the best way to put it is that it’s good music for driving, especially
morning commutes and the like. Their sound is good and rich and
somewhat melancholy when played early and loud, as the too-bright sun
filters through the struts of the Steel Bridge and flickers across
one’s windshield. Another way to put it is that a year or two ago, when
a comp copy of their album The Back Room showed up at the
Mercury office, the disc spun around in my Jeep’s CD player for
a good two months before it was replaced by something newer or better.
I lost the disc somewhere, but no matter. I haven’t thought of the
Editors since. Then comes word that they’re coming to town, and they’ve
got a new album, and not to sound overly dismissive, but I suppose if a
free copy arrived at the office, I’d give it a listen. I always need
new music for my car. ERIK HENRIKSEN