CHRIS LEE FEATURING STEVE SHELLEY, DAMIEN JURADO, VERONA
(I-Spy) With a voice somewhere between a less arch Archer Prewitt and a less desiccated Jim O'Rourke, Lee delivers a batch of songs that mix indie-folk with slightly jazzy flourishes on his eight-song album titled (chris lee) plays & sings torch'd songs, charivari hymns & oriki blue-marches. Tonight he'll be backed by Sonic Youth's Steve Shelley on drums for a sound that will be spare and lovely. NATE LIPPENS

LOCAL H, CHEVELE, BURNING BRIDES
(Graceland) See preview this issue.

DEATHRAY, KNIEVEL, MAN OF THE YEAR
(Crocodile) Back in the day, rock and roll used to be looked on solely as the realm of the really, really young. But now--with Britney Spears using her age as an excuse for her stunning lack of musical history and even the current crop of emo hipsters seemingly blind to anything that came before Fugazi or Jawbreaker--it's downright refreshing to come across artists whose additional life experiences (and musical experiences) give their music a level of texture and subtlety that's been sorely missing of late. If you've been craving indie pop that's intelligent, well crafted, and downright beautiful, pick up a copy of Knievel's Name Rings a Bell That Drowns out Your Voice. The members of this Sydney, Australia, band may have graduated a couple years ahead of the Bright Eyes bunch, but their curriculum was much more thorough and the resulting musical output is both mesmerizing and mature. Like Luna, Knievel shows that it's possible to massage the heart, the mind, and the ears at the same time. Gorgeous. BARBARA MITCHELL

RAP-A-ROAKE
(Fremont Unconventional Centre) Of course it had to happen: Live DJs will back you up to rap your favorite old-school rhymes. And why not? A number of bars around town do "Rock-A-Raoke," where a live band backs up the famous-for-three-minutes singer. Rap-A-Roake sounds much, much more funny, though--and by "funny" I do mean in the sad karaoke sense. To sing karaoke is to surrender to the deep embarrassment of either not having talent but the gall to take the stage, or of having talent but being reduced to singing karaoke. Ultimately, it proves each and every time how far away the experience of the "real song" is from its karaoke rendering: The song is so close you can feel it, its melodies and lyrics are right in front of you, but the voice is in the unfathomable distance. This distance will increase with Rap-A-Roake, because rap is so utterly obsessed with "realness" and calling out "fake" rappers. So a word of warning: This is for y'all REAL muthafuckin' karaoke rappers, aaight? All y'all fake-ass karaoke rappers can just step the fuck off, this is the REAL karaoke rap shit. BRIAN GOEDDE

KNIFE IN THE WATERS, JOHN VANDERSLICE, KIND OF LIKE SPITTING, THE MENDOZA LINE
(Crocodile) The one man indie rock industry known as John Vanderslice is set to follow up last year's Time Travel is Lonely with Life and Death of an American Fourtracker. Both are concept albums (two in a row; even the Who couldn't pull that one off), full of bizarrely beautiful noises, that flesh out Vanderslice's narratives, which fulfill the crucial requirement for concept albums that last: You can listen to them a hundred times and never need to know there's a story involved. But rather than try to replicate the whirring analog madness of his LPs, Vanderslice opts for a revolving rock band lineup live, the better to foreground his richly crafted pop inflections. C.O. INTEREST

U.S. MAPLE, SEAN NA NA, AUTOMATON
(Graceland) Often thought of as a group of musicians' musicians, Chicago four-piece U.S. Maple rests somewhere between the quirky inventiveness of post rock and the studied intensity of math rock. Over the course of four albums--1995's Long Hair in Three Stages, 1997's Sang Phat Editor, 1999's Talker, and the nearly year-old Acre Thrills--U.S. Maple has gone from almost avant-garde to almost accessible, given the softer attitude of its last release. The eternally dejected Sean Tillmann, who fronts Sean Na Na, is never at a loss for material to pump into songs so full of been-there relationship blunders that a large range of music fans can find something to like within each of his albums. From cuddly-cute melodies ("Spread the Good Feeling") to a Who ringer ("Grew into My Body"), Sean Na Na's just-released My Majesty is packed with great songs and is Tillmann's most accomplished offering yet. And speaking of just-released, that may soon be the status of the ever-awaited Automaton recording Clarions and Banners, a year-old collection of powerful, wonderfully elastic, smartly written songs that has been held up in distribution hell thanks to that beleaguered industry's recent woes. Automaton doesn't play all that often--all the more reason to attend what promises to be a great night of rock and roll. KATHLEEN WILSON

CLINIC, KINGSBURY MANX, MINUS THE BEAR
(I-Spy) See preview this issue and Stranger Suggests.

CAT POWER, M WARD
(Showbox) See preview this issue.

CRIPPLES, LEATHERBOY, RIGHT ON!
(Stella's Pizza) The Cripples' two-synthesizer attack supports some of the hookiest songs around. It's poppier than pre-1980 Pere Ubu or Devo, but like those bands, the Cripples show a willingness to use the synths to generate some pretty ugly sounds. They're not, however, a one-dimensional new-wave revival act; if the Cripples do play a cover it's going to be the Screamers or Minor Threat, not some wacky '80s hit. Opening will be Right On!, ex-members of the Night Kings, U-Men, and Flathead. The way they build a song around rhythm dynamics and a choppy riff is reminiscent of fantastic songs like "Makin' Time," but the delivery is more stripped-down and raw. Right On! does with '60s beat and Northwest garage what the Real Kids do with Chuck Berry riffs, or Radio Birdman did with high-energy Detroit rock: use these elements as a foundation to create something new. Before this show, the Cripples will also play a free set at 3 pm at Fallout Records with the Rock & Roll Adventure Kids, a giddy trio that comes on like a modern-day Jerry McCain, bashing through songs that are immediate, simple, and just this side of off-the-cuff. HEATH HEEMSBERGEN

GOING SOUTH, KIM VIRANT, COBER
(Central Saloon) Sheila Bommakanti is not a large person. Kind of small, really. But she brings a brimming, compelling talent to bear as the leader of Cober, a local rock band you need to know about. Bommakanti, an accomplished guitarist, songwriter, and arranger who sings out the top of her head, recombines several unlikely musical strands into an unprecedented amalgam: the loping, effects-laden dread of such circa-1981 Brit postpunks as the Comsat Angels and the Cure of "A Forest"; the single-minded power and desolate beauty of "Fade to Black"-era Metallica; and the whisper-to-wail vocal palette that made the early Kat Bjelland (of Babes in Toyland, lest we forget) so riveting. Cober's album Crashpilot contains eight addictive songs and a lovely nine-minute closing instrumental (hidden at track 92, in case you get confused!). I'd rank it as the best Northwest debut since the eponymous Jessamine and Sleater-Kinney albums of 1995, if not the inaugural releases of Built to Spill and Heavens to Betsy (both 1993), all four of which it recalls in its promise and aesthetic clarity. In person Cober is fiercer, heavier, and funnier than on the CD (not even a bit goth, as it happens), so now's the time t'get with it! TOM KIPP

THE SWEET SCIENCE, THE WARLOCKS, THE DUTCH FLAT
(Sit & Spin) After playing only a few shows in Seattle to wildly appreciative (if select) audiences, the Dutch Flat disappeared from the radar when some of its members relocated to Portland (oh, will they never learn?) and others carried on here as Mines. If last night's U.S. Maple/Automaton pairing didn't tire out your bean too much (and if your neck isn't still stiff from holding your head just so as you stood in front of the stage, arms crossed, geeking out on all the fancy fretwork), then I suggest you aim yourself toward the Sit & Spin tonight--chances are you're going to like the newly present, refurbished Dutch Flat. KATHLEEN WILSON

FCS NORTH, AUTOMATON, SUFFERING & THE HIDEOUS THIEVES, ANDY ABERO
(Theater off Jackson) Since releasing its self-titled debut album last year, FCS North has kept busy playing shows and continuing the evolution of its music. Drawing on free jazz, groove, and ambient soundscapes, keyboardist Chad States, bassist Joshua Clover, and drummer Andy Sells have honed their skills while expanding their sound. Working with dynamics, speed, fragility, and shifting tonality, they create music with the freshness of improvisation and the precision of constant practice. The gamy efflorescences in the pieces the band plays open up in concert, interconnecting with head-bobbing rhythms and strong ideas for music that are intelligent in the influences they touch on and visceral in their execution. FCS North's newer material distances the band further from the misconception of some that it plays post-rock of the Chicago strain. The new songs emphasize the rhythms and the samples even more. It can contract to something spindly and tense only to expand into something sensual, sheathed in a tidal atmosphere. NATE LIPPENS

VIXENS OF VINYL
(Noc Noc) Yup, that's the name the Art Bar's new management finally decided on: Noc Noc. No relation to the Cha Cha, or Noc on Wood Records. It's "Noc Noc" as in, "Who's there?" "Lettuce." "Lettuce who?" "Lettuce go to Noc Noc, our favorite bar." Despite the inspiration of the new name, it does not mean the place has become a geezer's comedy club. Check the DJ calendar for complete lineup; tonight is of special significance because the Vixens of Vinyl--Miss Funk, Mini Funk, and Emily Song--spin house, breaks, and speed garage for breakdancers, some of whom will be Circle of Fire members. This crew revolutionized Seattle's Monday night last year at Nation (it's still going, it just feels kind of bloated at this point). The same could happen at Noc Noc (who's there?!?!) for Sunday night, which would not be bad because, presently, Sunday nights are such a drag. BRIAN GOEDDE

Nope.

THE WALKMEN, MAZARIN, SUSHI ROBO
(Graceland) Turn on the black lights, because the Walkmen are about to transport you to the deepest recesses of your warm, baby id, where you desire everything and it feels very, very nice. Featuring three guys from Jonathan Fire*Eater, the Walkmen fully ensconce the gloom of Joy Division and the light step of Young Marble Giants with a comely serenity. Their vocalist manages to be both maudlin and sexy; he gracefully walks a proscenium of quietly rickety guitar, swank piano and organ, and clattering, minimalist drums--so minimalist, in fact, you'll marvel that five guys could make such a quiet clamor. Part of their sound is certainly due to their interesting recording techniques. They own a studio in New York, and often employ tactics like recording the shatter of the high hat at a volume equal to that of the piano. It makes for a subtle wash of warmth and immediacy--a heart-fluttering sheen that drenches their forthcoming record, Everyone Who Pretended to Like Me Is Gone (on StarTime Records, also home to French Kicks). Does that make sense? Zowie... I'm in love. JULIANNE SHEPHERD

BONNIE PRINCE BILLY, RAINYWOOD, ENTRANCE
(Graceland) Will Oldham of Palace and its various alias offspring--Palace Brothers, Palace Songs--is also Bonnie Prince Billy. It's a name that calls to mind Renaissance fairs and poet sleeves. But as with all his projects, the name belies the music, which always draws from a deep and often depressive well of country blues by way of indie rock. Some of his finest recent work has fallen under the Bonnie Prince Billy moniker and his own name. The mystery of his music isn't only in the name changes, it extends to the manner in which it is separated and identified, blurring categories and boundaries. It centers on his cracked tenor and his vulnerable rendering of the shifting emotional sands of his lyrics. NATE LIPPENS

JOHN SCOFIELD BAND, ZONY MASH
(King Cat Theater) Scofield is one of the major jazz guitarists working today. He made a name for himself decades ago, recording with Chet Baker, Charles Mingus, and Miles Davis in their late years. Today, he represents a major problem of contemporary jazz: Can cerebral music have funk in the trunk? Like most contemporary jazz musicians, Scofield started out at one of the most prestigious schools of music, Boston's Berklee College of Music. That was a long time ago, so his music can hardly be called "academic," but it has a cerebral focus that naturally descends from such an education. So when he combines funk, jazz, and even hiphop flavorings to his latest project, Uberjam, it comes off as a brainy rendering rather than an expression of the raw energy that characterizes those genres. In a word, it's not sexy. That's a reduction, for sure, but a useful one: When musicians like Scofield make it "hot," if it's heat for the brain it's the right kind of stimulation. If it's supposed to be heat for other parts of the body, especially the ass, it feels really awkward. Zony Mash is led by pianist Wayne Horvitz, a much-lauded Seattle avant-jazz musician and composer. BRIAN GOEDDE

DOUG MARTSCH, MIKE JOHNSON
(Tractor Tavern) With his distinctive voice and knack for simple yet profound lyrics, Doug Martsch has led Built to Spill to become one of the Northwest's most beloved bands. Tonight he'll play an acoustic set with another son of the Northwest, Mike Johnson, whose sad songs have filled three solo albums and whose soulful baritone is frequently heard backing similarly talented artists such as Mark Lanegan. If you're a fan of music rife with heartache and longing, tonight's your dream come true. KATHLEEN WILSON