STRENGTH, THE TRUCKS, SHOW ME THE PINK, CATFIGHT
(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
ELVIS PERKINS IN DEARLAND, LET'S GO SAILING
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
LESLIE & THE LY'S, SEXY PANTS, DAT'R, MOAN, CORBAN LESTER
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Leslie and the LY's are the hiphop performance act by that nutball Leslie Hall, the gem sweater lady. You remember her, right? The deadpan chubbstress with the giant '80s eyeglasses, blonde bouffant, and skin-tight gold-lamé spandex pants? She's gotten hype in Vice, Bust, and Paper magazines, and her self-portraits have graced the cover of this rag. How her comedy, which relies so heavily on the visual of her clothes and crazy situational drama, will translate into a touring live music show remains to be seen. KELLY O.
GENGHIS TRON, KYLESA, BLACK ELK, BLOWUPNIHILIST
(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) Ow my frickin' ears. Genghis Tron are brutal, just plain brutal, ball-trippin' grindcore for the hoodie set. Best part is that they are totally drumless, using triggered programming to provide a backbeat to their screeching chaos. Not to sound like Team Mom or anything, buy someone's going to need a lozenge. EZRA ACE CARAEFF
DEFIANCE, COLDBRINGER, THOUGHT PATTERNS, COLD DEAD HANDZ
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) I'd like to hug each and every member of Defiance, but fear of those spiky leather jackets has me keeping my hands to myself. Instead, I'll just keep my thanks verbal for this band, which has been cutting the shit and packing the pit since '93. Despite years of rotating lineups, they've done great justice to street punks the world over. Up the punx! EAC
BRAND NEW, KEVIN DEVINE, MANCHESTER ORCHESTRA
(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See Music, pg. 29.
HORSE FEATHERS, MUSEE MECANIQUE, PANTY LIONS
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Last year was a great year for Horse Feathers. On top of releasing their album, Words Are Dead, for Portland's own Lucky Madison, they managed to get nominated for a Plug Award for Americana album of the year, alongside such indie-staples as Neko Case, Calexico, and Bonnie "Prince" Billy. Theirs is a quiet music, one with sincere, hushed vocals and instruments (mandolin, saw) not typically associated with this century And they even manage to throw in a little drone now and then, which, well, hell, never appears on folk records. The wood-paneled Doug Fir may prove to be the ideal backdrop for them, as long as the ever-present bar chatter stays to a minimum. ROB SIMONSEN
WET CONFETTI, PANDA & ANGEL, FEROCIOUS EAGLE
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) Kudos to this fantastic triple bill, one in which no band sounds alike. Wet Confetti is the heir to the deconstructed post-punk throne, plus they are about to embark on a tour with the Thermals. The raw effortlessness of Panda and Angel make a nice mid-show buffer, especially when the cold reality sets in that this band is nowhere near as cute and cuddly as their name suggests. Ferocious Eagle is the big guitarobatic opener setting you up for an evening of ringing ears. EAC
YOU AM I, THE MAKERS, THE VILLAGE GREEN, STEVE TURNER
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) Normally a short solo set by a bearded guy with a guitar is about as exciting as drinking Metamucil, but if the bearded guy is Steve Turner, things change a little. Not Steve Turner the rugby player, or Steve Turner the tennis pro from the '70s (thanks, Wikipedia!), Steve Turner the guitarist from Mudhoney. While putting Metamucil, Mudhoney, and Steve Turner in the same thought only opens the door for a 1,000 old jokes, and the fact that Turner's solo work tends to be more folk than rock doesn't help the situation, something tells me Turner doesn't give a shit what we think. Just a hunch. MATT DRISCOLL
MAN MAN, YACHT, THE BUILDERS & THE BUTCHERS
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) It seems as though in the past few years klezmer music has made itself a nice little niche in mainstream culture, with everything from Gogol Bordello to frequent OPB references. Nothing, however, can prepare you for Philadelphia's klezmer-influenced Man Man. Behind a wall of forceful vocals, rhythmic drumming, and walking organ lines, they've managed to update all the best aspects of klezmer, pushing the music forward rather than relying heavily on traditions past. And like all good punches to the face, they will leave you in complete disbelief as to whether or not what you just experienced was real or not. Involuntary dancing? Check. Flowing communal wine jug? Check. A night not to be missed? Triple check. RS
VERUCA SALT, CHARLOTTE MARTIN, THROWBACK SUBURBIA, OLIVER
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) It's perfectly natural to feel some affection for American Thighs-era Veruca Salt—"Seether" sure was a sexy single back in the day, wasn't it? I used to crank the shit out of that song, driving through the 'burbs in my beat-up Volvo station wagon, pretending my life was a music video. It's almost tempting... but no. I refuse to succumb to nostalgia for the early '90s, and I sort of resent bands trying to manufacture and cash in on that nostalgia. I have a feeling that this show would just make me feel prematurely old—not to mention that only one original band member remains, and that everything I've heard from them, post about 1998, has ranged from uninteresting to unlistenable. ALISON HALLETT
BUBBA SPARXXX, SOUL P, XILE, NIO SAPREME
(Outlaws Bar & Grill, 722 E Burnside) I've seen Bubba Sparxxx once before in concert (don't ask), and for a fat, heavily tattooed white Georgia native, Mister "Ms. New Booty" can hold it down pretty well. But what you need to tune in for here is opening act Nio Sapreme, a local emcee who sounds nothing like what you think of when you hear the phrase "Portland hiphop." The Cusp, Nio's forthcoming debut, which features guest spots by Cool Nutz and Liv Warfield, is an intensely personal and hardhitting tale of grinding, smoking, and hustling. Best known as the host of Flossin TV, Nio has been steadily developing his rhyming and storytelling skills for over a decade, and he waited until his game was in top form before dropping The Cusp. The result is a startlingly polished and powerful album that places more emphasis on fierce rhyme-spitting than on bouncy beats, and autobiographical street tales than breezy hooks. If nothing else, Nio Sapreme contributes a voice and aesthetic sorely lacking in Portland's rap scene, and he does it remarkably well. Look into it—it'll change your thoughts about local hiphop. CHAS BOWIE
WOVEN HAND, CALLA, GHOST STORIES
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
STORM & THE BALLS, PLASTAL
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Though Rock Star Supernova may be one of the most abysmal shows ever perpetrated upon a TV audience, it was elevated to a startling degree whenever Portland's Storm Large took the stage. And while she may have (thankfully) lost the Supernova battle, she won the war with a newfound national fanbase, and sold out shows here in PDX. So why are you the last person to climb on the bus? She's playing at the Wonder Ballroom with her hometeam, the Balls, so get moving! As always, you can expect a raucous evening of razor-edged cabaret-style rock standards, sexy repartee, and some of the best musicianship this town has to offer. Plus punky-funky, all riot grrrly band Plastal is opening, so let's hear it for the girls! WM. STEVEN HUMPHREY
HEY LOVER, THE TEETH, RAINBOW & THE KITTENS
(Towne Lounge, 714 SW 20th Pl) In a town (and national music scene) full of bands that want you to feel their pain, or acknowledge how clever they are, Hey Lover just fuckin' brings it. This male/female duo's new self-titled CD teems with fun even when they are singing about our nation's oil war ("Please peace/god dammit!"). Even better, you feel like they are truly calculating every single odd couplet ("and these rocking chairs/they rock because that's what they do"), making the audio equivalent of frozen juice concentrate in the process. Their sincere conviction in their own loud, crazy brand of punk rock noise explosions makes me want to see if they would truly rock my face off like I think they would. JIM WITHINGTON
GRAYSKUL, XPERIENCE, DEBASER, THE UNIFIED THEORY, DJ ATM
(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Grayskul rolls on down from the Emerald City to celebrate the release of Facefeeder, their new self-released tour CD. The pride and joy of Oldominion, Grayskul is the epitome of a hiphop crew working as a single cohesive unit. Like Voltron, with lighting-quick rhymes, Facefeeder features their new labelmate Xperience, who adds yet another level to their already swelling mass of textural flow. EAC
PIEBALD, MC CHRIS, STREET TO NOWHERE
(Dante's, 1 SW 3rd) MC Chris comes off as one for the poindexters, but it takes a real badass to write songs the way he does. He's arguably the leader of the nerd-core movement, but he pens hiphop jams about having panty collections like Japanese perverts, putting robot dogs down, getting wedgies, and athletic difficulties that forced him to wallow away on the bench reading books about Narnia. SEAN MOELLER
THE REAL PILLS, PURE COUNTRY GOLD
(Slabtown, 1033 NW 16th) Word count restrictions prevent me from extolling the overwhelming pleasure associated with the bare-bones garage punk of the Real Pills. But I will say this: The band just returned from their Punk Rock Retirement Community (I believe it's in Boca Raton), for this one-off reunion show, their first in half a decade. Portland, you get one chance to see them in action. After that, you'll miss them forever and live a useless life of soul-crippling regret and shame. Choose wisely. EAC
THE LOCUST, DAUGHTERS, CATTLE DECAPITATION
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) It's a bit of a mystery to me how the Locust became such magnets for controversy. They have always been good at presenting an image and pranking the media—I find myself listening to the promotional stream of New Erections while simultaneously watching YouTube footage of frontman Justin Pearson on the Jerry Springer Show—but in the hoo-ha over their status within or outside of the context of hardcore, one might forget that they are first and foremost killer musicians. The progression of New Erections sees the buggy ones slowing their spazzery into a sludgier beast retaining complex arrangements and black hole humor. GEORGE CHEN
ALELA DIANE, MATT BAUER, GARRETT PIERCE
(Mississippi Studios, 3939 N Mississippi) Alela Diane was born in Northern California Gold Rush country and her music is as full of valuables as those hills and streams were. The beautifully gentle way she quilts her stories with a voice that can cut like a knife or soothe like a cool cloth. There's a pain and a strength that frolic with each other in the songs from her stark and exhilarating debut full-length, The Pirate's Gospel. She writes like a writer, not a songwriter, and her tales are rich with underpinnings and narrative intricacies that explore ideas that don't normally get explored in song. Thus far, the diminutive friend of Joanna Newsom has been predominantly making loud blogger chatter, but that shouldn't last for very long. SM
MINILUWAH: GHOSTING, ROB WALMART, PASH, STRANGERS DIE EVERY DAY
(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Here's another Miniluwah show, again proving the curatorial prowess of the Halleluwah Festival folks. Pash fits in to their brand of listenable experimentation perfectly, with electronic loops and disconcerting keyboards combining with her slinky, dancing vocals to create uncomfortably intriguing songs. Ghosting blasts scary noise like they are Rob Walmart's evil twin; both mine from the sound collage vein, but Walmart's soundtrackscapes are more easily stomached. Most intriguing for me will be the early set by Strangers Die Every Day. Currently finishing up their soon-to-be-released album, and boasting new material for this show, this orchestral-strings-plus-drums group creates beautiful, ominous compositions. JW
KEN ANDREWS, FIRST WAVE HELLO
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Just saying the name Ken Andrews used to be enough to induce a little drooling from indie nerds the world over. Failure—Andrews' old sonically-precise alt rock band—records and old copies of Tape Op used to be mandatory bedroom decorations for inspiring audiophiles who wanted to add more to the always-dudecentric DIY recording conversation than a token "Albini" namedrop. Time hasn't been cruel to Andrews, but his post-Failure output never really panned out in making him the rock god he seemed destined to be. Corner him tonight at the club and talk to him incessantly about analog—I'm sure he'll really enjoy that. EAC
Everything you own in the box to the left. In the closet, that's my stuff. Yes, if I bought it then please don't touch.
RICHARD SWIFT & THE SONS OF NATIONAL FREEDOM, DAVID VANDERVELDE & THE MOONSTATION HOUSE BAND, PETER WALKER
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) Don't let Richard Swift fool you. Oh sure, with his all-black beatnik suit, scraggly mop of hair, his almost-too-perfect vintage sound, and the grainy composition of his album covers you're suddenly thinking, "What early-'70s gem did I just unearth?" It's a trick, though. A semi-dirty trick that has you embarrassing yourself by dropping Swift's simple, short and sweet tracks on mix tapes, hoping to impress your friends with this hidden treasure. You find yourself shocked to see his albums on the shelves, thinking the sweet hand of coincidence has once again reached down and lightly slapped you on the ass. When word hits the street that this forgotten music hero has reemerged, you'll buy tickets, shocked that the mellifluously voiced singer hadn't pulled a Nick Drake sometime in '78. But, at the end of the day you'll realize your error: You're not listening to the rediscovered works of a vanished musical master, you've just caught on to the fact that Richard Swift is a rising star, wearing his influences like a coat over his shoulders, and quickly becoming the most promising singer/songwriter you've heard in years. NOAH SANDERS
ISIS, JESU, ZOZOBRA
(Hawthorne Theatre, 1507 SE 39th) See My, What a Busy Week!, pg. 25.
ARBOURETUM, DAVID KARSTEN DANIELS, BRIGHT RED PAPER
(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music, pg. 27.
THE GOSSIP, THE NEW BLOODS, REVERSE DOTTY & THE CANDY CANE SHIVS
(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) See Music, pg. 27.
MEW, OH NO! OH MY!
(Aladdin Theater, 3017 SE Milwaukie) See Once More with Feeling, pg. 37.