THE SWORD, PRIESTBIRD, YEAR LONG DISASTER
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) Good news for people who love bad news—this show is sold out! EZRA ACE CARAEFF
TOO SHORT, LUNI COLEONE, COOL NUTZ, MANIAC LOC, DJ CHILL, CHEF BOY R'BANGERZ, COUSIN FIK, MR. D.O.G., CHRIS RAY
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) Known as one of the pioneers of the West Coast sound, Too Short has been banging for Oakland since 1989's Life Is... Too $hort. And he's still going strong, mixing funk and soul with banging beats in his constant quest to promote pimp culture. Of the 16 albums to his name—with six platinums in a row(!)—his latest is 2006's Blow the Whistle, in which Too Short reinvented himself once again with the club-ready title track that combines the Oakland Mobb sound with the dirty south steez of his new hometown of Atlanta. Short may not tour much, but when he does, he always makes it worth the wait. WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY
DAYTIME VOLUME, THE GREATER MIDWEST, THE DIMES, THE SMOKES
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Daytime Volume's new album, The Day We Transposed, feels lifted from a gauzy, snooze-bar, just-nine-more-minutes dream. Like the similar drowsyheads in the Clientele, there's a lot of subtlety at play—sleigh bells here, tiny keyboard bloop there, and lines like, "Don't let them throw stones through your glassy eyes and into your soul" surrounded by melodica hums and low brass accents. Elsewhere, they sing, "Wake me, I don't need to sleep/Finally, wouldn't you agree?"—and I would certainly agree that this sleepy band won't remain a sleeper for long. The Dimes are money, too, bringing simple, shimmery songs sure to satisfy your sugar tooth. JIM WITHINGTON
SYSTEM & STATION, SWIM SWAM SWUM, MBILLY
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) System and Station are forever underrated, the local band who flies under the radar, despite a solid history of releasing albums and constantly hitting the highway in support of them. Their latest, Here Is Now, is their best—picture Frame and Canvas for the post-emo meltdown—as it exposes a band who loves nerding out with intricate arrangements and some bold dual guitar complexities. EAC
LIVE WIRE!: KELLY JOE PHELPS, THE BLOW, RALPH HUNTLEY & THE MUTTON CHOPS
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Remember that time when your OPB-loving mom called you up and was all: "Hey, do you know anything about this Blow person? I saw her perform last night at Live Wire! and she was really quirky. I think she might be one of your people." And you were all like, "Aww Mom, I've seen Khaela perform like 10 times. The first time was at a house show in Northeast, like, six years ago." Then you realized you were trying to prove how cool you really were to your mom, which made you sad for your own sake but happy for the Blow for finally getting the recognition they fully deserve. Even if it is from your mom. ROB SIMONSEN
FEROCIOUS EAGLE, OLD GROWTH
(Tonic Lounge, 3100 NE Sandy) Despite a band name that sounds like a high school sports mascot, Ferocious Eagle bark out the angry post-punk jams with some throat-tearing gusto. They're noodling enough to woo the prog kids, yet still angular as fuck, which will entice those with balled-up Jawbox shirts in their dressers. It's a noisy combo, but one that meshes with great ease, despite all the throat damage. EAC
ANBERLIN, BAYSIDE, MEG & DIA, JONEZETTA
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) It only takes one sentence of Anberlin's bio to compare the generic Florida nü-emo band to Radiohead, U2, and the Clash. Sentence number two pimps their latest, Cities, as a "modern classic." If I didn't ball up the bio in disgust at that point, I'm sure the band would be walking on water and feeding the hungry with bowls of their spilled tears by paragraph's end. Speaking of walking on water, this Christian band's lead singer is named Stephen Christian. How convenient! EAC
BOBBY BARE JR., DR. DOG, JEFFREY LEWIS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Dr. Dog played music like brothers of blood when they first cut loose for the perpetual highway from the left side of Philly. With an excellently unabashed assemblage of great influences, these physicians, over the course of four albums and an EP, carry one through the best moments of Revolver, Lace and Whiskey-era Alice Cooper, The Band's Stage Fright, and some rare ragtime glory of mid-'70s Supertramp—all harmonized with the careful consideration of Brian Wilson stalking near. In other words, it's just another band playing songs that chew away style from all the music that some of us desire to have seen performed originally. JUSTIN PETERSON
BURNING PORTLAND: HELLSHOCK, MASS GRAVE, BLOOD OF CHRISTIAN CHILDREN, SANCTUM, LIMB FROM LIMB, KAKISTOCRACY, HAPPY BASTARDS, ATU, SQUALORA
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) If there's one thing this paper should support, it's good ideas. Lord knows there aren't enough of them these days. When the Burning Portland Festival—a two-day, all-ages, punk-rock fiasco—kicks off on Friday, it'll be a good idea come to fruition. Inspired by the Distort Vancouver punk rock festival, Burning Portland has a first day lineup that includes Hellshock and Blood of Christian Children—who I'm going to book for my daughter's birthday party. While the name can't help but remind me of that other Burning (blank) festival (where all the hippies get together in Nevada and ingest shit, renounce bathing, and spread venereal diseases), Burning Portland has all the makings of something very memorable. Not that venereal disease isn't memorable, but you get the point. MATT DRISCOLL
KMRIA, DR. THEOPOLIS
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
DAT'R, DYKERITZ, SLEEPYHEAD, DJ COPY, DJ TAN'T
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Our Town Could Be Your Life, pg. 29.
DOLOREAN, TREVINO BRINGS PLENTY, KAITLYN NI DONOVAN, ISOLADE
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) See Once More With Feeling, pg. 41.
THE PRIDS, WET CONFETTI, LKN
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) All the single malt Bushmills and green beer in the world could not convince me that this show has anything to do with St. Patrick's Day. In an effort to Irish it up on this drunken holiday, here are each band's Shamrock equivalents. The Prids: Bram Stoker, the Dracula author that somehow made goth palatable. Wet Confetti: Neil Jordan, a film director that—much like Wet Confetti—brings an underlying sexuality to his art. LKN: This one is a breeze, Phil Lynott. Lauren K. Newman is the afro'd Thin Lizzy frontman's long-lost daughter, I'm sure of it. EAC
WAYNE "THE TRAIN" HANCOCK, POWER OF COUNTY
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Wayne "The Train" Hancock is considered the reigning king of hillbilly swing by people qualified to make such lofty assessments (namely members of Bob Wills' Texas Playboys, and Hank Williams' grandbaby Hank III). I've witnessed Hancock onstage and the man definitely earns his nickname "The Train" by playing sweaty-ass chicken-fried honky-tonk with the abandon of a fugitive trapped in a blind alley. LANCE CHESS
RECALLSEVEN, THE QUAGS, JOHN MICHAEL ADAMS & OWL WAR
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Featuring bright rock guitars and lyrics like, "The teachers say that's outrageous!" the title track from the Quags' 2005 release Devil's Music sounds like the theme song from a rejected Saved by the Bell spin-off. These guys also remind me of Polaris, the band that provided the soundtrack for so many beloved episodes of The Adventures of Pete and Pete back in the day. Guess I'm just one of those "boob tube babies" that the Quags are singing about. Headlining band Recallseven's eclectic nature doesn't lend itself to easy description, but even on the more rockin' tunes, vocalist Kurt Foster lends a soulful, country feel. JW
PLAIN WHITE T'S, BOYS NIGHT OUT, DAPHNE LOVES DERBY, MAY DAY PARADE
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) It hurts to admit how wonderful of a song Plain White Ts' "Hey There Delilah" really is. The band's lone hit has all the credibility and substance of Abercrombie catalog, yet clings to you like a parasite that survives by sucking out the indie cred from deep within your soul. It's a dirty concession, but no matter how cool we all think we are, we'd trade it all in a second to be a teen on The Hills with a Plain White Ts poster on our bedroom wall. EAC
WOW & FLUTTER, YELTSIN, PRIZE COUNTRY
(Red Room, 2530 NE 82nd) If you squint your ears, you can hear a bit of Burning Airlines in Yeltsin's guitar—you can feel the same sense of urgency and danger that made that band interesting. There's a lot of Blake-from-Jawbreaker in their sprawling lyrics, too. For my money, though, the best part of their most recent effort, We Will Be a Factory, is the final track, "My Benefit." It feels like a joke that became an actual song; Yeltsin lets their hair down here, complete with awesomely ridiculous gang-singing and lyrics about meeting "after school by the chain link fence." Sounding like a slowed-down, cleaner-produced version of Screeching Weasel, they slog through, finishing with a laugh. JW
FLOATER, BITTER SWEET, TYRONE WELLS
(Crystal Ballroom, 1332 W Burnside) It must be difficult for a band like Floater, hanging on to the nearly non-existent remnants of early '90s buttrock/grunge amid all the experimentation cluttering Portland's music landscape. I'll give Floater credit though: There is something audacious, even charming, about presenting their audiences with the chance to step into a time machine and revisit the days of flannel coats, tucked-in T-shirts, and stupid-looking sunglasses. There is certain charm in their absolute dedication to such a tired musical form, which forces them to choose to eschew actual talent for the foregone era of buttrock chords and overly drawn-out narrative storytelling. But somehow this shit works, and a legion of Candlebox-loving Floater fans will pack the Crystal Ballroom as if this was Pearl Jam in '92. Sadly, this isn't Vedder, this is Floater, the final scraps of a forgotten music, music that I've lived through once and I frankly will not choose to indulge in again. NOAH SANDERS
BURNING PORTLAND: TRAGEDY, WARCRY, ISKRA, MALA SANGRE, AGAINST EMPIRE, ALTERNATE SYSTEM, GIGANTES, WARCORPSE, BOOK OF BELIAL
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) If the first day of the Burning Portland Festival doesn't kick your ass so hard that all you have the motivation for is Seinfeld reruns come Saturday, or if (eek!) you missed it, day two promises to pack all the punk punch of the first day and then some. Tragedy, Iskra, Mala Sangre, Against Empire, Alternate System, and Warcorpse will all wreak havoc on Satyricon, providing three-chord magic to the all-age masses, and providing you with a reason to get off your fat ass for a second day in a row. Here's to hoping Burning Portland becomes an annual event, and furthermore, here's to your new active lifestyle. MD
THE ONE AM RADIO, STRANGERS DIE EVERY DAY, YOU MAY DIE IN THE DESERT
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) See Music, pg. 21.
PATTY GRIFFIN, TERREMOTO
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) Having confused Patty Griffin with Nanci Griffith (a far superior singer/songwriter with a similar name), I eagerly volunteered to write this Up & Coming. Once I realized I had the wrong (and lesser) chanteuse, I headed to Griffin's MySpace for some quick 'n' easy homework. Listening to this folksy, countrified sedative made me feel exactly like I was 12 years old again, in the backseat of my parents' car, vowing never to listen to boring, shitty music when I grew up. This is music for people who are tired of being challenged. And it sure as hell is no Nanci Griffith. CHAS BOWIE
SMOKE OR FIRE, LOVE EQUALS DEATH, SHOOK ONES, LOVE ME DESTROYER
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) There aren't many good band names left. Smoke or Fire, who hopscotch between punk and pop punk while showing a fondness for things Southern and Americana, exemplify this fact. When Smoke or Fire started they lived in Massachusetts and called themselves Jericho. Jericho, as far as band names go, is mediocre at best. After moving to Richmond, Virginia—no doubt where they picked up some of their country-fried ways—the band was approached by a now-defunct Christian rock band from Australia also called Jericho. Feeling the pressure, they changed their name to Jericho RVA. While that moniker bordered on lame, at least Jericho RVA got the Aussies off their back. Unfortunately it also infuriated Southern religious leaders. Strike two. The band finally settled on Smoke or Fire. While it might not be the coolest name ever, considering what they've been through I think they deserve some slack. MD
Your taxes are due in less than a month, and you want to go out? Stay in tonight and crunch some numbers, Poindexter.
FRIDA HYVONEN, AU REVOIR SIMONE, THE ONLINE ROMANCE
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) See Music, pg. 23.
ANAL CUNT, KILL THE CLIENT, BUNG, EL CERDO, TRUCULENCE
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) Other than their name, Anal Cunt is absolutely worthless. A band that deals in useless shock tactics (racist, sexist, etc.), has survived by getting press for being totally outrageous... oh, and that name. The music is absolutely dreadful, bordering on un-listenable (even for a noise band), and it's clear that beyond their moniker, nobody cares. EAC
ANTI-FLAG, ALEXISONFIRE, BIG D & THE KIDS TABLE, SET YOUR GOALS
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 19.
RED SPAROWES, SAVIOURS, WILLIAM ELLIOTT WHITMORE
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See Music, pg. 21.
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg. 23.
THE HEIRS OF EIFFEL TOWER, THE MASTER PLAN, JON GARCIA
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) The intro riff to the Heirs of Eiffel Tower's "Breakdown" sounds like they ripped it off from the final Hum record, or maybe from Joan of Arc's second album. For you post-punk fans out there, this is good news. Then the chorus kicks in, and your mind has to process the REO-like operatic singing of Joe Saville over said late-'90s crunchy guitars. It's weird and disorienting compared to the second-wave emo drums and guitar going on underneath, but it really seems like they are on to something. THOET brings the drama, certainly, and live they've got the chops to draw you in. JW
LAIR OF THE MINOTAUR, BOOK OF BLACK EARTH, DARK BLACK, GUYVE
(Someday Lounge, 125 NW 5th) Lair of the Minotaur play the kind of growling, gnashing thrash metal that they grew up listening to, but filtered through a modern definition of heaviness. In the same way that 3 Inches of Blood make power metal into a 21st century beast, LOTM are paying tribute to their heroes (Celtic Frost, etc.) and making their music crush with the assistance of something those original acts didn't have: hindsight. Does it help to hear that they release albums on Southern Lord and share a member with Pelican? Thought it might. Book of Black Earth are cut from the same bloodstained cloth, and come down from Seattle to show Portland how it's done in cities where pro gear and serious chops still matter. More importantly, they can boast ex-members of Teen Cthulhu, who made a deserved splash with their Jonny X-like synth-black metal zaniness. NATHAN CARSON