The Stranger

Joan of Arc mastermind Tim Kinsella has been one of the most prodigious and quietly influential figures in emo/indie/post-what-have-you for two decades, since his teen years in the posthumously revered Cap'n Jazz. Since then, he's recorded more than a dozen records with Joan of Arc and other bands, subtly shifting shapes but always retaining a singular and impressive voice, his intricately winding lyrics every bit as distinctive as his cracked yet tuneful howl. (Vera Project, Seattle Center, 956-8372. 7:30 pm, $10, all ages.) by Eric Grandy

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Tarsem Singh's long-gestating follow-up to his painfully flawed—but gorgeous—serial-killer flick The Cell is a children's story about love, heartache, suicide, and the gullibility of kids. Taking major cues from The Princess Bride, it never quite jells on a narrative level—in fact, it's a borderline disaster. But visually, it's one of the most imaginative and playful movies you will ever see. As a filmmaker, Singh is half-baked; as a stylist, he's truly one of the greats. (See movie times, www.thestranger.com, for details.) by Bradley Steinbacher

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In the 1980s, William Gibson allegedly coined the term "cyberspace," which nobody besides your parents has used in conversation for at least five years. But, as Stranger critic Steven Shaviro pointed out in a March 2003 review of Pattern Recognition, Gibson is probably the first writer to use "Google" as a verb. In his newest thriller, Spook Country, he's one of the first to realistically capture the antigovernment techno-paranoia of the first decade of the new millennium. Most sci-fi authors are still trying to catch up to Gibson, and after 30 years, none of them has come close. (University Book Store, 4326 University Way NE, 634-3400. 7 pm, free.) by Paul Constant

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Radio Slave is the higher-profile alias of British DJ/producer Matt Edwards, who is also one-half of Quiet Village. The shrewd double-booking means lower overhead for Nectar, but should also make for a stellar show, contrasting Radio Slave's minimalist remixes and populist reedits against Quiet Village's hazy disco-touched ambiences, which sound like club music as heard from outside the club, muffled and floating on some warm breeze. With Nordic Soul. (Nectar, 412 N 36th St, 632-2020. 9 pm, $10, 21+.) by Eric Grandy

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Last month, women artists invented their own biologies at Punch Gallery. This month, four men ride the time-space-object continuum at SOIL in a group show about the invention not of bodies but of environments. The lineup is unexpected, pairing Jonathan Hudak's scattered scenes with Eric Elliott's exaggeratedly condensed paintings and Matt Browning's loose installation "drawings" (that incorporate bricks, metal, quilted fabric, fur, tea strainers, and keyboard key sensors) with Whiting Tennis's solid, personified plywood sculptures. (SOIL, 112 Third Ave S, 264-8061. 6–9 pm, free.) by Jen Graves

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