The Stranger

If there existed a musical note that literally killed people with pleasure, Girl Talk would find it and use it (probably chopped up with three crunk hits, some Radiohead, and a joyous female wail you only later realize is from Carole King's Tapestry). The next decade will bring 1,001 variations of the music geek with a house-rocking laptop, and you shouldn't waste a chance to experience the guy who does it biggest and best. (Showbox at the Market, 1426 First Ave, www.showboxonline.com. 8 pm, $15 adv/$20 DOS, 21+.) by David Schmader

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Sufjan Stevens's concept albums about states are vigorous and thoughtful works of art—the kind of wonky music-making that MP3s supposedly murdered a decade ago. He's put that same jittery energy into a 40-minute "cinematic suite" about the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway, a poorly planned and ineptly produced stretch of ugly commuter highway in New York City. The BQE is a Wagnerian love letter to an ugly chunk of urban planning, featuring time-lapse photography, adventurous collage-work, and a trio of comely Hula-hoopers. (Northwest Film Forum, 1515 12th Ave, 829-7863. 7 and 9 pm, $6–$9.) by Paul Constant

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German director Uli Edel has made a masterpiece: a concrete-grit drama about super-controversial historical characters (the young German "urban guerrillas" who assassinated 34 people and blew up department stores, newspaper offices, and embassies during the 1970s) that doesn't romanticize or apologize for anyone. Its politicians are chubby ex-Nazis who serenely eat lobster bisque while the Vietnam War rages on. And its young terrorists are deluded egotists who like guns, fast cars, and fucking just as much as they like proletarian emancipation. The film is complex, sexy, horrifying, and long—and deeply, deeply satisfying. (See Movie Times: thestranger.com/film.) by Brendan Kiley

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I spent most of junior high with a hunk of graphite stuck in my left hand—'cause y'know, nothing ever made that detention clock tick faster than a good ol'-fashioned pencil fight. At the WXPFL Championships, however, there'll be pro "Gra-Fighters," so expect serious wood splinters and real-deal bloody knuckles. Also expect a bunch of funny dudes like comedian Owen Straw, Grudge-Rocker Jake Stratton, and Seattle's only hamburger-peddling wrestling clown Ronald McFondle to keep you completely entertained. (Rendezvous, 2322 Second Ave, 441-5823. 8 pm, $6, 21+.) by Kelly O

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Nothing radical or iconoclastic went into the making of Elephant's Graveyard—just meticulous storytelling by a midcareer playwright (George Brant), disciplined direction (by Jason Harber), and a fantastic 13-member ensemble (including Ray Tagavilla and Michael Blum). In 1916, Sparks Circus pulled into the muddy town of Erwin, Tennessee—true story—and things went fatally sideways. The Rashomon-like, multiple-perspectives-on-one-event trick is an old one, but Balagan makes it fresh all over again. (Balagan Theatre, 1117 E Pike St, 800-838-3006. 8 pm, $15. Through Sept 26.) by Brendan Kiley

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The final quarter of this four-day, cutting-edge digital-arts fest climaxes at Neumos with a bombastic nocturnal techno feast featuring Alter Ego, Tim Exile, Reagenz, and Jerry Abstract. Before that, hit Volunteer Park in the afternoon for eclectic, cortex-splintering sets by Eddie, Gaslamp Killer, KiloWatts, and Sub Swara; and in between, chill out to the audiovisual splendors of the showcases Ameritronica (Triple Door) and Beauty in Binary (Seattle Asian Art Museum). And realize you've just had a whirlwind tour of electronic music's peaks. (Various venues, www.dbfestival.com. Noon–2 am.) by Dave Segal

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