So this guy walks into a bar with a banana in one hand and a poodle in the other, and he says, "Bartender...."

THE BUSINESS, STRIFE, RISE AGAINST, PISTOL GRIP
(Graceland, all-ages, early show) The Business are a scrappy lot of "take no shit and take no fucking prisoners" working-class punks. Formed in the shady corners of South London in 1979, they've been sneering at proper society for over two decades, writing catchy Oi! tracks that tell the world in plain language to fuck off. While songs such as "Drinking and Driving" and "Smash the Disco" became quick punk anthems in their day, the group just released some fresh material to show they still bare the brass knuckles on their fighting words. The Business use their new TKO EP, Hell to Pay, to pick the scabs off social ills and remind the kids to win their battles at all costs. If you want some of that no-fucking-bullshit-gimme-the-weekend kinda loudness, the Business are damn straight shoots. JENNIFER MAERZ

AVEO, MAGIC MAGICIANS, S
(Graceland, late show) Okay, this is a bill that pop lovers must attend. Aveo plays the prettiest, most phosphorescent Smiths-influenced rock this town has ever heard, and Magic Magicians convey the short blasts of rawness at which their singer, 764-HERO frontman John Atkins, excels. Then there's S, Jen Ghetto's long-lost solo project that is breathtaking in its simplicity and directness. Ghetto is just a girl and her guitar, nervous as Hell, playing for an audience who hangs on her every note and word. KATHLEEN WILSON

RADAR BROS, ROSIE THOMAS, JEN WOOD
(I-Spy) See Stranger Suggests

MARC OLSEN, JESSE SYKES & THE SWEET HEREAFTER, LARRY BARRETT
(Tractor) As a second home for both Marc Olsen and Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter, the Tractor Tavern offers a relaxed, friendly place to hang out and catch them in their element. Olsen has been around for quite a while, which may lead some to take him for granted--definitely a mistake. Opening for Neil Halstead at Graceland recently, he performed a tight, energized set. Olsen's guitar prowess is incredible, with fingerpicking and atmospheric dynamics running together. His raspy growl scrapes at both romantic frustration and restlessness. Jesse Sykes & the Sweet Hereafter, featuring excellent former Whiskeytown guitarist Phil Wandscher, have just released the wonderfully nuanced and spectral album Reckless Burning (which they will also be playing selections from at an in-store appearance at Sonic Boom in Ballard). Sykes has a silvery soprano that captures longing and desire with the understated sophistication of Emmylou Harris over an intense country-noir sound. NATE LIPPENS

YOUNG FRESH FELLOWS, THE MODEL ROCKETS, ROY LONEY & THE LONGSHOTS
(Crocodile) Let's play a variation on my favorite game, What Would Scott McCaughey Do? Since McCaughey is IN the Young Fresh Fellows, we know he'll be at tonight's show. So what WILL Scott McCaughey do? Why, he'll have a most excellent time, jumping around with gleeful abandon, wholeheartedly enjoying some of the most ridiculously catchy, fun pop nuggets ever penned. He'll marvel at the percussive wonder that is Tad and thrill to the sight of Kurt Bloch and Jim Sangster, practically soaking in the joyous camaraderie that makes this band one of the greatest live experiences ever. He'll probably knock back a few, sport a grin the size of Texas, and spread good vibes to all he encounters. I suggest you do the same. BARBARA MITCHELL

MAKTUB, ORBITER, HEATHER DUBY, THE HELIO SEQUENCE
(Showbox) With the notable exception of New Canaan, Connecticut, Seattle is the whitest town I've ever stepped foot in. For that reason alone, the sweet soul music of Reggie Watts and Maktub is a welcome breath of fresh air. Groove-starved Seattleites have reason to rejoice tonight, as Watts and Co. celebrate the release of their new album, Khronos. This one's more varied than the debut, swinging from the R&B stylings of tunes like "Baby Can't Wait" to the lite-funk of "See Clearly" to balls-out rockers like "Give Me Some Time." Still, the inclusion of a Led Zeppelin cover ("No Quarter"?!?!?) and the trying-too-hard-to-be-a-badass "Motherfucker" (puh-leeze) leave me trying hard to fight the feeling that Maktub has mastered the art of making black music for white people. BARBARA MITCHELL

LES SAVY FAV, PLEASURE FOREVER, THE APES
(Graceland) See preview this issue.

FIREBALLS OF FREEDOM, LOST GOAT
(Chop Suey) Lost Goat's most recent record, The Dirty Ones, is an exposé of rotting façades, as singer/bassist Erica Stoltz's caustic growls uncover caged rodents crawling with sickness, inescapable addictions, and relationships that end in fantasies of suicide. This is a fucking dark record, with a heaviness that oozes through every pockmarked pore of the dense, Heart-meets-Sabbath metal this trio produces. Darkness doesn't mean total desperation, though, and the band is too street-tough and skilled at the art of dirgy melodies to wallow in sonic doom. Instead it turns sick self-hatred into a forceful rock veneer, as Stoltz sneers and coos like Nancy Wilson's whiskey-drowning little sister. JENNIFER MAERZ

FRIDGE, KINSKI, EXPLOSIONS IN THE SKY
(Crocodile) How can one little trio produce such pretty beats and deep-breath rhythms? Fridge's avant-electronic music is rolled up in shiny coils of guitar, samples, and delicately clanking bells. The Brits (including Kieren Hebden, who moonlights in his organic IDM project Four Tet) unravel it all with clarity and ambiance that prove minimalism doesn't have to be cold. This is not music that fades to the background, and, other than the warmth that pervades the feel of their music, Fridge doesn't stick to a single method or sound. In addition to their electronic subtleties, they rock with distinct guitar parts and acoustic drums, snippets of people talking, and lots of pieced-together percussion, mostly written in traditional, circular song structure. Classy! JULIANNE SHEPHERD

RADIO REELERS, MIDNIGHT THUNDER EXPRESS, RIGHT ON!
(Sunset Tavern) S.F.'s Radio Reelers are ex-members of the Fells, Weird Lovemakers, and Trust Fund Babies. Their Radio Feeling 45 is one of those records you throw on to get in a good mood, one you can give multiple listenings to and still get caught up in its immediate rush. In an era awash with dull nth-generation Dead Boys/Heartbreakers copycats (minus what made those bands great), the Reelers seem aware that "punk" used to be able to encompass bands as different as Teenage Head or the Suicide Commandos and still have a "fast rock 'n' roll = FUN" aesthetic that breathes life into their noise. Right On! and Midnight Thunder Express are two more excellent reasons to hit up this show. HEATH HEEMSBERGEN

LES SAVY FAV, PLEASURE FOREVER, THE APES
(Graceland) See preview this issue.

SAVES THE DAY, AUDIO LEARNING CENTER
(Showbox) My obsession with Saves the Day isn't the same breed that bursts from many a 16-year-old girl. While I do find the quintet to be cheek-pinchingly adorable, I don't find them to be heart-stealing romantics. I'm more interested on a psychological level--wondering if Chris Conely, lyricist and lead singer, is sane. With lyrics about rusty spoons gouging out blue eyes so he can "swallow them down to my colon" where they'll "burn like hell tonight," I'm dying to know if this boy is as warped as his vivid lyrics make him out to be. And wanting to crucify someone on a wall while collecting their blood in a bottle so he can "feel it dripping down my throat, as it heads for my heart"? That's not romantic, that's not engaging--that's just creepy. But teenage girls love the mentally unstable ones, and tonight all the young women will be fighting over whose blue eyes Chris is going to want to gouge out later. MEGAN SELING

PINETOP SEVEN, THE MINES, NO. 226
(Graceland, late show) Pinetop Seven are slow and heavy, not like the Melvins, but like someone who's got to subject the world to his sadness and woe. Get rid of all that whining, and what you've got is a gorgeously cinematic blend of country Americana and Southern gothic, thick layers of sound and invention incorporating piano, strings, and horns as well as guitars and drums. KATHLEEN WILSON

BLÖÖDHAG, NIGEL PEPCOCK
(Zak's) I'm a sucker for a good gimmick, and Blöödhag has a great one. The band is all about promoting literacy through heavy metal by throwing books out into the crowd (which aren't for ripping up and destroying, but for reading and enjoying) while blasting out 30-second speed metal anthems dedicated to the most worthy writers, like J. R. R. Tolkien, Kurt Vonnegut, and Isaac Asimov. With thick-rimmed glasses, pocket protectors, and some of the loudest guitars in the city, Blöödhag is the band that means it when they say, "The faster you go deaf, the more time you have to read." MEGAN SELING

PAUL WESTERBERG
(Easy Street Records, Queen Anne) See preview this issue.

SAVES THE DAY, AUDIO LEARNING CENTER
(Showbox) See Sunday.

POSEUR, ON ALASKA, DJ WP2K
(Graceland) Poseur bolted out of the gate with all the hype and acclaim of next-thingness that the local music scene (and this paper, and yours truly) are guilty of burdening new bands with. So it's taken guts for frontman Brendan Titrud to shirk those expectations and light out for whatever territories he sees fit. In the process, Poseur has come into its own. With the rock-solid rhythm section of bassist Matt Engebretson and drummer Lindsey Agnew laying down a strong and sinewy foundation, Titrud's confidence to let the songs grow organically has been bolstered as Poseur has hit its stride. Titrud sings with the passionate conviction of Bright Eyes' Conor Oberst, but without the histrionics. His pop savvy adds another dimension to the songs while the visceral interplay of his bandmates only heightens his live performance. NATE LIPPENS

NICK CAVE AND THE BAD SEEDS
(Paramount) I used to have a crush on this guy who was very Nick Cave--greasy black hair, a deep, back-alley man kinda voice, and a penchant for telling some dark fucking stories. The guy was a total drama king, and luckily I realized that before I started getting into the sex dreams phase of my feelings. Theatrical boys are good on disc, but a bit too much to handle in person, unless you're sitting in some dimly lit, red-wallpapered dive. So anyway, while I have no idea where my old fantasy man lurks these days, Mr. Cave will be here tonight, and if you want to get swept up in his sinister charm, do it now, 'cause rumor has it the man won't be hitting the road again for another three to five years. JENNIFER MAERZ

FLESHIES, NEW LUCK TOY, SWEARING AT MOTORISTS, IOWASKA
(Graceland, showroom) Here's a lineup catering to rockers with violently erratic mood swings--from the socially irritated to the manic-aggressive. England's Iowaska rants rote lefty politics over gothic metal space jams. The singer sounds like a demonic Katharine Hepburn, and if lyrics about "wicked women perverted by the devil seduced by illusions and phantasms" give you bad open-mic flashbacks, you'll probably find this band's diatribes worse than a Wiccan root canal. Personally, I prefer the politics of the Fleshies, a spastic punk act that puts on phantasm-free shows, with a singer who cannonballs around the room in tighty-whities, spraying the spit about giant meatballs and dumb cops. Swearing at Motorists is a band for the times when passive turns aggressive--an intense duo fronted by a guy who looks like he's really gonna drive his guitar through the wall the next time the missus shits on his heart. JENNIFER MAERZ

THE LASHES, BITESIZE
(Crocodile) I can be a little shit sometimes, as the Lashes can attest. When the band set in motion a relentless plan to get me to notice them, I crossed my arms and said Fuck That Noise. Stickers and posters calling out to me appeared all up and down Pike/Pine, in the goddamn Cha Cha bathroom even, and I heard the band even wrote a song about me (get in line). But did I go see them play? No, and my reasons for that were twofold: I'm a little shit, and, I was positive it was all a big joke at my expense. So wouldn't you know it, six months after the pursuit began, the Lashes ended up opening the night the Fastbacks played their last Seattle show, and goddammit if I wasn't FORCED to see them at long last. And goddammit if the singer wasn't wearing a shirt emblazoned with my name. The song was cute and garagey ("It's your party/but I just want to be invited"), singer Ben swears his devotion is serious, and I feel like a little shit for ignoring them. But not too much. KATHLEEN WILSON