The Stranger

Seattle artist Akio Takamori made small porcelain figures from images by Danish photographer Rigmor Mydtskov, then made large photographs of the figures that hang behind them on the wall. Each face, each outfit, goes through multiple translations. Another strategy of capture-and-release takes place in famed shooter Danny Lyon's photographs of the civil rights movement, of the Texas prison system, of a motorcycle gang he joined and rode with. Those images have become part of how we see backward toward the 1960s; how do they look now? (James Harris Gallery, 312 Second Ave S, 903-6220. 11 am–5 pm, free.) by Jen Graves

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You can't choose your family, but you can choose to leave your family shortly after the last scraps of dessert go down. They'll be belching and patting their guts, and you'll need a sanity-restoring drink. Some of our favorite bars keep the not-at-home fires burning for Fat Thursday: the Baranof in Greenwood, karaoke at Bush Garden in the ID (have dinner at China Gate beforehand), and Liberty, Moe Bar, and the newly de-cobwebbed Canterbury on Capitol Hill. (There are more. Search for open bars in your neighborhood, and join the other merry holiday refugees, at thestranger.com/chow.) by Brendan Kiley

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I hadn't been to putt-putt golf since Billy Taylor's stuffy birthday party in fourth grade—until last weekend, when those metal-working freaks at HazardFactory (they of constant calluses, Band-Aids, and singed eyebrows) opened their appropriately named Smash Putt! The temporary nine-hole warehouse course isn't just loud and fun and drinky: It's also witty. (Hole number one, "the K-hole," is a joke I won't spoil for you.) Balls get shot out of cannons, skewered by a drill press, ricocheted off a rotating, scooter-powered pad. Everybody there is a little wild-eyed. It's good fun. (Smash Putt! 912 12th Ave, www.smashputt.com. 6 pm–1:30 am, $12.50–$15, 21+. Through Nov 29.) by Brendan Kiley

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It's been a tough stretch for this charming man. Having been driven offstage by the stench of burning flesh at Coachella, felled by "breathing troubles" onstage in Swindon, then—what the fuck?—clocked with a beer bottle onstage in Liverpool, Morrissey needs our love more than ever. Touring in support of his recent B-sides compilation Swords, Morrissey will hit the Paramount with his perennially sharp band and, if recent history holds true, an unusual generosity with Smiths classics. (Paramount, 911 Pine St, www.stgpresents.org. 7:30 pm, $52–$72.) by David Schmader

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Most new-wave revivalists are exasperatingly rote with their po-faced homages to late-'70s/early-'80s underground music. Philadelphia trio Cold Cave is the rare band that indulges in this sort of retro fetishism inventively. Their inspirational evocations of that era's chilling atmospheres, deadpan vocals, and stately melodies animate Cold Cave's breakthrough album, Love Comes Close (Matador Records). They set stoic, Ian Curtis–like vocals to Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark's eerie synth-pop threnodies, resulting in brilliant, upliftingly morose songs. (Vera Project, Seattle Center, 956-8372. 7:30 pm, $8/$9, all ages.) by Dave Segal

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Self-described "anti-globalization activists" the Yes Men are the world's most ambitious pranksters, going to shocking lengths to expose profit-driven corporate heartlessness. The Men are rescued from Michael Moore–ish glibness by the scope of their endeavors (hijacking a BBC broadcast aired live to 200 million viewers, for instance) and their tireless devotion to their cause (dudes hang out in their corporate hoaxes for so long you start fearing for their lives). Not even the film's cutesy framing device and misguided quest for a moral can spoil the brain-tingling, culture-damning fun. Yes Man Andy Bichlbaum will be in attendance November 27–29. (Northwest Film Forum, 1515 12th Ave, 829-7863. 9 pm, $9. Nov 27–Dec 3.) by David Schmader

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