THURSDAY 5/28

CHAIN & THE GANG, THE HIVE DWELLERS, WALLPAPER, DJ BEYONDA

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) See Music.

AUTHOR & PUNISHER, SILENTIST, THE BETTER TO SEE YOU WITH, ...WORMS

(Berbati's Pan, 10 SW 3rd) Before seeing them at last year's Fall into Darkness avant-metal festival, I was convinced that Portland's Silentist—long the project of multi-instrumentalist Mark Evan Burden—had disappeared into the night and fog with all the other California/Alaska death-punk refugees and sympathetic 17 Nautical Miles-era PDX hardcore freaks. (Mur*Der, you still around too?) But there was Burden, sounding more like Burzum than before, his wrong-side-of-the-mountain percussion hardened by an enraged August Alston's screams. Their "Hex" contribution to this year's PDX Pop Now! compilation—also on their eponymous Celestial Gang LP—sheds brave light onto Cascadia's underground push against the humiliating notion of area pop perfection, combining rapid-fire classical piano and loud vocal opposition. Tonight, freedom is free (and so is the show). MIKE MEYER

THE RAINY STATES, DEER OR THE DOE, THE SHIVAS, STARPARTY

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) Perhaps the lone complaint about otherwise-perfect pop act the Rainy States is that the band never seems to break a sweat. Last year's In Basement Air was as genuine and pristine (without ever trying too hard) as pop records come; a jangling and bouncy trip back to '90s indie rock, complete with co-ed vocals that would sound at home on Teenbeat, or resting inside a record like Versus' Secret Swingers. Throughout the band's self-released catalog is an air of soft confidence, a crystal-clear understanding that the Rainy States are always in control, steering their delicate songs in any direction they so choose (even if that means dropping the occasional Tom Petty cover from time to time), and capping it off with a structured live show where not a single hair tumbles from its rightful place. Their haphazard and disheveled peers would be wise to take a note from the Rainy States' playbook. EZRA ACE CARAEFF

MAGIC JOHNSON, DON HELLIONS, HERE COMES A BIG BLACK CLOUD, STAG BITTEN

(Holocene, 1001 SE Morrison) Mando and Ana have been donning red face paint and churning out Spanish-language punk assaults in the name of an NBA star since the summer of 2007. Now with legions of shows, scores of fans, and a 7-inch to their name, Magic Johnson seems poised to reach a wider audience. Magic Johnson's appeal is the atmosphere created by their frantic vocals, relentless bass, and ear-shattering drums. It may very well be that their music sounds best in the sweaty house shows where it has thrived, but giving Holocene a taste of what Portland's basements are made of certainly won't hurt. MARANDA BISH

FRIDAY 5/29

WHAT'S UP?, NEAL MORGAN, WHY I MUST BE CAREFUL

(The Artistery, 4315 SE Division) See My,What a Busy Week!

THE AGGROLITES, CHRONICLE, DJ SIMMERDOWN

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The Aggrolites came recommended to me by a close friend with (nearly) impeccable musical taste. Despite boasting a "Ph.D. in feel-good music," signing to the label (Hellcat) run by the millionaire crusty punk contradiction that is Tim Armstrong, and being four white dudes playing reggae, the band still received his blessing. That said, with only slight reluctance, I dove headlong into the Aggrolites' IV, a move that I can only now, in retrospect, consider to be a terrible, terrible mistake. This "dirty reggae" act skanks all over the well-traveled grave of Bradley Nowell (not necessarily a bad thing, per se) as just another gathering of SoCal brosephs gone Rasta. An empty gesture of a band that is desperately trying to remind the listener of their chosen genre (the word "reggae" is constantly dropped, just in case you forgot), the Aggrolites are no different than your run-of-the-mill Eugene open mic act, or the type of party band that performs on cruises to Cabo Wabo. Now where did I put that puka shell necklace? EAC

APPLEBLIM, MONKEYTEK, SPL, LOKI, D. POETICA

(Crown Room, 205 NW 4th) Dubstep has officially crossed over to the mainstream. The trademark wobbly sound has permeated every last corner of dance music culture, naturally losing a lot of its edge in the process. Luckily there are producers like Bristol's Appleblim who are keeping the sound fresh with an innovative and forward-thinking version of the massive bass genre. Taking cues from original dub techno, minimal, and a community of like-minded dubstep producers in Bristol—like Peverelist, Komonazmuk, Wedge—Appleblim's brand of dubstep is like a modern version of slowed-down atmospheric drum 'n' bass that's not afraid to keep the 4/4 beat going for more than a few measures. His sleeker, more subtle style is far more interesting than the "bigger is always better" attitude that's come to define dubstep, and the steady thump is a welcome shot of new energy to a genre that is faltering under the weight of its own popularity. AVA HEGEDUS

PIERCED ARROWS,PURE COUNTRY GOLD, HAIRSPRAY BLUES, THE BUGS

(Ash Street Saloon, 225 SW Ash) I am convinced that there is nothing Fred and Toody Cole cannot do. As seen in the documentary Unknown Passage: The Dead Moon Story, the couple have been happily married for several decades, during which they built their own home out of scrap material, raised a family, ran their own convenience store and record label, and toured the world in support of their blues-punk band, promoting Dead Moon to legendary status. They even knew when to call it quits with that particular incarnation of their music and have reformed as Pierced Arrows, with a different drummer and variations in sound but the same familial energy that fans describe as key to their appeal. Last but not least, despite their age and years of smoking and drinking, Fred and Toody have recently completed the Portland Marathon. Fred and Toody: Pacific Northwest rock 'n' roll, embodied. MB

SATURDAY 5/30

JENNY LEWIS, THE SADIES, MIMICKING BIRDS

(Roseland, 8 NW 6th) See My, What a Busy Week!, and Music.

COTTON JONES, OR THE WHALE, HEY MARSEILLES

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) See Music.

JAGUAR LOVE, MAD RAD, DIAMOND LIARS, DJ RAD

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) About as subtle as a Day-Glo brick to your grill, Jaguar Love occupy a cozy bit of musical real estate that is entirely unique to this (now local) band's bizarre musical shifts and credible pedigree. Perhaps they are a bit less likely to belt out a bloodcurdling screech than their previous act, the Blood Brothers, but Jaguar Love are hardly poster children for restraint. Their songs are manic, willingly swapping structure for sheer exuberance and the unforgettable—in either a good or a very bad way—helium shriek of frontman Johnny Whitney. In moderate doses, a little Jaguar Love consumption can be inspiring, but too much and you won't have a clue as to what just hit you. Much like drummer J. Clark, who—as rumor has it—was recently replaced by a drum machine. Ouch, that had to hurt. EAC

LES FLANEURS, MR. FREDERICK, WIZARD BOOTS

(Kelly's Olympian, 426 SW Washington) Credit well-honed technical chops for the mighty foundation behind Villain, the new long-player from local prog-pop sextet Les Flaneurs. The cartoonish voice of singer Nate Clark yelps out individual lyrics that are then left to drift aimlessly as the band bookends each line with flurries of dizzying technical flair. While most math rock structures are little more than predictable problems with easy solutions, Les Flaneurs are deep into some musical trigonometry, assembling odd time signatures buffered by short doses of noise, instrumental panic, and the occasion sweet melody. If you think you have seen just about every trick the Portland music scene has to offer, you haven't heard Les Flaneurs yet. EAC

SUNDAY 5/31

DREAMDATE, THE GOLDEN HOURS

(Rontoms, 600 E Burnside) See My, What a Busy Week!

HER SPACE HOLIDAY, CITY LIGHT,

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) See Music.

Y LA BAMBA, AUTOPILOT IS FOR LOVERS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) I know, I know... I can't wait for the Y La Bamba record to come out either. Showcasing the songs of Luz Elena Mendoza, the forthcoming album, tentatively titled Lupon, will feature her new backing band and production from the Decemberists' Chris Funk, who also manned the boards during Langhorne Slim's recent Portland sessions. But although tonight's show is billed as a CD release show, Lupon won't be out until later this year. Mendoza is one of those rare artists I actually heard about by literal word of mouth: I overheard someone talking about her open mic night at Zilla Sake House and raving about her spooky, spine-tingling songs. But I wasn't prepared for the timeless, ravishing whisper she lends her music, like a smoldering Jolie Holland. Soon enough, we'll hold Lupon in our grubby hands; until then, we have tonight's show. NED LANNAMANN

MONDAY 6/1

BODIES OF WATER, AH HOLLY FAM'LY, WHITE HINTERLAND

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) See My, What a Busy Week!

SCOTT H. BIRAM, CICADA OMEGA, DRY COUNTY CROOKS

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) I saw Scott H. Biram, the "Dirty Old One Man Band" on his home turf in Austin, Texas. He was an ugly figure hunched over a hard-played guitar, mumbling and cussing. Once he started playing, chugga-chugga metal/blues boogie spun from his wall of amplifiers all tied down by a massive pulsing backbeat—like Eliminator-era ZZ Top pumped full of amphetamine-forged nanobots. Next came a serving of full-frontal nudity courtesy of several audience members. This was followed by continuous threats of violence from Biram's "Old Lady" toward the liberally unclothed women competing for Biram's glassy eyes. But Biram was saving his hat trick; he launched into "Heartbreaker" by Led Zeppelin playing it rough and dirty—but somehow, mid-song, he made it sound as if a record were slowing down. He then masterfully revved the song into reverse—essentially backmasking the song in real time complete with Norwegian-sounding vocals. Go ahead, snort a couple of yellowy ditties with Biram. Just steer clear of the Old Lady. LANCE CHESS

TUESDAY 6/2

PEACHES, DRUMS OF DEATH

(Wonder Ballroom, 128 NE Russell) Peaches' last record, Impeach My Bush (ugh) spawned a couple good singles/remixes ("Boys Wanna Be Her" and the Simian Mobile Disco remix of "Downtown"), but it didn't make much of an impression. Her album before that, Fatherfucker, was just kind of a mess. Her new album, I Feel Cream, much of which was co-written by Gonzales, is the best thing she's done since her debut. Peaches successfully tries out airy diva vocals over the title track's muffled rave synths and the twinkling keys and bass arpeggios of the Simian Mobile Disco co-produced "Lose You." On other SMD co-production "Billionaire," she's rapping monotone in fine, F bomb-dropping form, bolstered by a breathless, brutal guest spot from Yo Majesty's Shunda K. One of the album's few strictly solo joints, "More," boasts a nicely buzzing line and Peaches whispering sweet enough dance floor nothings. This return to form is almost as surprising as that first time you heard "Fuck the Pain Away." ERIC GRANDY Also see My, What a Busy Week!

CLUES, LEATHER TOM & THE DIRTY DUDES

(Backspace, 115 NW 5th) Montreal's the Unicorns were one of those bands that broke up way too soon, but the blow was softened when former Unicorns Nicholas Thorburn and Jamie Thompson started a new band, Islands, whose debut Return to the Sea contained some splendid neo-prog moments. Remaining Unicorn Alden Penner quietly formed Clues with pre-Funeral Arcade Fire member Brendan Reed, and they've already rolled through town once with little fanfare. But now that Clues' self-titled debut album has come out, this should change; Clues is a total blast, with alternately jagged and sweet indie rock—served up with a slight French Canadian twist—packed with the Unicorns' snotty delivery, a hint of Arcade Fire's grandiosity, and that pure, potent, rock 'n' roll blast of great-sounding guitars and drums working in perfect tandem. NL Also see My, What a Busy Week!

WEDNESDAY 6/3

RYE RYE, DJ AASHA ADORE, FLESHTONE, SERIOUS BUSINESS, RUDE DUDES

(Rotture, 315 SE 3rd) Everything I've seen promoting this show bills Rye Rye as M.I.A.'s protégée—which she is, having toured and recorded with M.I.A. and being the first signee to her record label, N.E.E.T. But let's just take a minute to appreciate how rarely you hear that title in the realm of pop music these days. Has any pop icon since Prince really promoted a "protégée"? I can't think of one. So, Rye Rye has recorded with Diplo, Blaqstarr, and the Count & Sinden; she raps with a raspy, kid-small voice over a variety of bassbin-rattling beat strains; her songs, like "Bang," don't transcend party rap to become proper pop anthems in the way that her mentor's do, but they are at least top-quality, heart-palpitatingly rhythm-heavy specimens of club music. EG Also see My, What a Busy Week!

FAR, 1939 ENSEMBLE, WATER & BODIES

(Satyricon, 125 NW 6th) I was 17 when I spent a few hours alone with Jonah Matranga in the back of a van (no, it wasn't like that). The Far singer was kind enough to humor my inept fanzine interview questions (I believe "what are your influences?" was one of them), exhibiting a level of generosity, if not pity, unseen in charismatic frontmen of major label bands on the cusp of a substantial breakthrough. In support of Water & Solutions, Far was the band primed to introduce emo—granted, theirs was a puffed-chest take on the genre, more Deftones than Christie Front Drive—to the masses. Of course, it never happened. Emo took a backseat to nü-metal for a few dark years, and by the time the finely sculpted pompadour of Chris Carrabba arrived on scene—like a creepy pint-sized pinup idol with a wounded heart—Far had long since faded away. So why is Far back after nearly a decade of silence—with the exception of various solo projects that ranged from adequate (Onelinedrawing) to horrendous (the Fred Durst-endorsed the Revolution Smile)—and no tangible or widespread outcry to reunite? Your guess is as good as mine. But for the sake of pure guilty pleasure nostalgia, you could do worse than a Far reunion. EAC

THE WOODEN BIRDS, OTHER LIVES

(Doug Fir, 830 E Burnside) The American Analog Set haven't broken up, it says on the band's website, but bandleader Andrew Kenny is fully involved with his new project the Wooden Birds. Kenny's curriculum vitae is one of the most impressive around, collaborating with Ola Podrida, Broken Social Scene, the Album Leaf, Her Space Holiday, and more in recent years. The Wooden Birds take American Analog Set's gentle, expansive canvas and remove the electronic elements, creating a low-key, acoustic-driven minimalism. The artistic success of the Wooden Birds strangely hinges on Kenny's ability to take this new folky vibe—a sound that's typically full of heart—and make it sound robotic. The Wooden Birds' subdued tone will hopefully be as interesting to see in a live setting, but American Analog fans never needed to be hit over the head to enjoy Kenny's graceful, and at times stately, music. NL