HAVEN, DIVISION OF LAURA LEE, RUN RUN RUN
(Chop Suey) See Stranger Suggests, page 23.
MATT SHARP, GREG BROWN
(UW's North Den) I've been a Weezer fan for almost eight years now. Pinkerton will always hold a large piece of my heart, and it's obvious what an influence Matt Sharp was on that record. (Not to mention the great work he's done with the Rentals.) Ever since Mr. Sharp's departure from Weezer (and everything else--I've heard numerous stories about him fleeing the country, giving up music, etc.), I've really missed his ability to write a great pop song. So when I saw a flier with the words "an evening with Matt Sharp" spastically highlighted in bright pink, I almost peed my pants. Musically, he's changed a bit--his new solo work is less about kitschy pop songs and more about simplistic, stripped-down acoustic stuff--but the set is sure to boast a couple of old Rentals favorites too. Don't go expecting to hear any Weezer tunes, though; I'm under the impression that that's just a sour taste from the past. MEGAN SELING
THE PULSES, WIRETAPS, DEAR JOHN LETTERS
(Crocodile) Seattle is hitting an excellent stride when it comes to instantly catchy, spazzy art-punk. The Briefs, the Spits, New Town Animals, and now the Pulses (who moved here in '99 from New York and feature ex-Fallout Shannon McConnell on bass) are at the head of their class for merging garage and pop; their style pulls elements from the Clash, the Buzzcocks, the Kinks, and Too Much Joy. Their new eponymous CD came out last month on Dirtnap Records (I swear that Ken Dirtnap has the best ear for new bands in this city), and there are more catchy songs on that record than I have space to get into here. With their latest release, the Pulses are definitely a band to get hot and bothered over. JENNIFER MAERZ
THE POPULAR SHAPES, THE LASHES
(Liquid Lounge) If any local band garners respect from musicians in all walks of the punk genre, it's the Popular Shapes. They're playing two shows this week, so if you miss them with Melt Banana, this is your chance to catch their energetic live act, where rhythms are wound up like tight little rubber bands, shooting off at clipped angles as pop melodies jerk around them. JENNIFER MAERZ
FRIDAY 10/18
HARD SOUL REVUE W/THE DT'S, THE HONKY METERS, THE MAKE OUT CHOIR
(Chop Suey) See preview, page 41.
MELT BANANA, POPULAR SHAPES, LURE OF THE ANIMAL
(Graceland) See preview, page 47.
BRIGHT EYES, M. WARD, THE BRUCES
(Showbox) See preview, page 43.
JOHNNY DOWD, THE BELIEVERS, EVANGELINE
(Tractor) See CD Review, page 49.
SPEEDEALER, CAMAROSMITH, THE HANGMEN
(Chop Suey) Like a brass-knuckled fist from Metallica, Speedealer knock into your gut with one speed-metal/hard-rock punch. The Texas band sounds heavier than flashes of death on an acid trip, with frontman Jeff Hirshberg hissing to leave him alone or threatening to kill himself with the calloused abandon of someone who ceased giving a fuck long ago. Live, they're the kind of band that completely absorbs you in their massive metal wrath, spitting you out at the end of their set, dizzy with adrenaline. Openers Camarosmith are the new band from Don "E" Paycheck and Diamond Jeff Matz of Zeke. JENNIFER MAERZ
TERRANOVA
(Nation) Based in Berlin, Terranova is a DJ crew whose 1999 CD, Close the Door, featured American rapper Roscoe and British trip-hoppers Tricky and Cath Coffey. The final song on the CD, "Midnight Melodic," is one of the prettiest trip-hop songs ever made. But for the most part, Terranova's music is not diaphanous (Moby) or crepuscular (Tricky), but heavy, dense, and driven. Their new CD, Hitchhiking Non-Stop with No Particular Destination, is heavier than their debut. Its pounding b-boy beats are enshrouded by what can only be described as a marvelous brainstorm (lots of electric zaps and flashes). The band defiantly deserves more attention in America. CHARLES MUDEDE
RASPUTINA, SAETA
(Paradox) Comparing new Rasputina to old Rasputina is like discerning the difference between Hot Topic goths and trueblood, Victorian-obsessed Dame Darcy goths. One is imbued with a sense of delicacy, a subtle sense of melancholy, and a touch of the macabre. The other has the consistency of lite soy cheese. Old Rasputina consisted of three cellists in period costumes (pantaloons, corsets, and the like) singing the tragic tunes of history with the voices of beautiful yet ill-meaning sirens. New Rasputina has been bastardized by some creep from Nine Inch Nails. (Ladies, how could you? Even the Marilyn Manson remix on your first EP wasn't this bad.) On their latest, the remixed My Fever Broke, the NIN creep has apparently decided that cellos do not appropriately convey anger or alienation, and that to do so, they must be amplified, distorted, tossed into a quagmire of bad pseudo-house beats, and essentially turned into a shitty NIN song with chicks on vox. It is enough to make you weep. The only saving grace is that live, they will invoke all the spare, haunting beauty of three cellos and drums, and NOT the spare haunting beauty of one cello and 75 effects processors from the late '80s. JULIANNE SHEPHERD
SATURDAY 10/19
JOHNNY DOWD, THE BAND THAT MURDERED SILENCE
(Tractor) See CD Review Revue, page 49.
SIAMESE, SYSTEMWIDE, SKYLOBBY
(Crocodile) Siamese is a Seattle-based drum 'n' bass band; Systemwide is a Portland-based dub band. Both blend the roughness of rock with the ethereal electronica of their respective forms (drum 'n' bass and dub). As for tonight's show, I've heard nothing but great things about Siamese's live sets (one Portland critic went as far as to say that during performances, they tear holes "in the atmosphere"). As for Systemwide, I watched them twice: first, in a large crowd at the EMP (where they were mixed by the legendary Scientist); second, in a small crowd in a downtown Portland bar. Both experiences were delightful. CHARLES MUDEDE
REBECCA GATES, SALLY TIMMS
(Chop Suey) Former Spinanes singer Rebecca Gates sure gets around, joining up with the cream of the Northwest and Chicago crop of musicians. Last time she swung through town, she was part of a celebrity cover band paying tribute to famous and underfamous girl garage bands, complete with costumes. This time out she's debuting her new album, Ruby Series, and sharing the bill with Mekons singer Sally Timms. KATHLEEN WILSON
ROBB BENSON, JEN WOOD
(Liquid Lounge) Just the other day, someone mentioned Robb Benson to me and I reflexively began humming "Marla," a song from the sadly departed Nevada Bachelors' second LP. I know Robb has gone on to greener pastures with Dear John Letters, and that his gift for melody is one of the most astounding I've ever encountered, like astounding on a Blunstone/Argent kind of level. But I just wanted to say that it's been well over a week and I still can't get "Marla" out of my damn head. Maybe it's because she's in-ter-CON-ti-nen-tal. Whoa-oh. Benson flies solo tonight; he thrives that way. SEAN NELSON
SPOON, THE ORANGES, TREASURE STATE
(Graceland) Can there be any doubt that Spoon is one of the greatest American rock bands alive? Check their evolution from Telephono to Girls Can Tell and chart the growth of a group that goes so far inside its influences that the influences become fully integrated, like knobs on an amplifier. The sound belongs to the band, and the band is fucking stellar. Treasure State, meanwhile, is the new band fronted by Rob Mercer (of Joel Phelps' Downer Trio), who has lurked in the shadows for too long. Treasure State's Moneyshot Records debut, Retain the Risk, is strong and spacious. SEAN NELSON
JURASSIC 5, PLANET ASIA, SKILLZ
(Showbox) See Stranger Suggests, page 23.
THE HOLLOWPOINTS, THE AMAZOMBIES, THE AUTHORITIES, THE GREEDIES
(Vera Project) Well I'll be damned. I just can't think of a better show to go to if you want to catch some of the area's best up-and-coming bands in one night. If you've kept your ear to the ground, you've already heard about the excellently executed, anthemic SLF/Clash/Social D.-style punk played by the Hollowpoints and the Amazombies. On top of that, however, you get some great variety with the Authorities, who play blues-punk spiked with the acidic blood of Lemmy and Angus at very loud volumes and very high speed, while the Greedies recall NOFX at their most endearingly snotty and self-effacing. BILL BULLOCK
POINT LINE PLANE, DISPLAY, MODELS OWN
(Downtown YMCA) Thanks to overzealous journalistic license, it's becoming increasingly difficult to write an intelligible sentence about the art-school brand of punk rock without coming off entirely pointy-headed. Obtuse, expertly hyphenated terms like "art-damaged," "electro-clash," "now-wave," etc. load the word counts of innumerable vain, entirely nondescript rock blurbs in rags worldwide, serving little purpose beyond confusing readers and embarrassing performers. This long prelude is more than anything a warning, as the entirety of this evening's agenda (the official "next-big-thing" that is Display, sandwiched between two impressive electro-clash-damaged-wave two-pieces--Portland's Point Line Plane and Seattle's Models Own) will soon be the subject of miles of unintelligible newsprint praise. Go see them while you can still legibly read their names. ZAC PENNINGTON
SUNDAY 10/20
TEMPLARS, THE RIFFS, BUTCHERS, RABID DOGS
(Zak's) Portland's the Riffs understand the relationship between a memorable punk anthem and catchy class-of-'77 hooks. Their 2002 TKO record, Dead End Dream, is the kinda spikes 'n' leather, shit-kicking classic that rings in your ears for good reason long after the record goes silent. JENNIFER MAERZ
MONDAY 10/21
GLASS CANDY AND THE SHATTERED THEATRE, THE DARK PLACES, DJ FRANKI CHAN
(Graceland) Beneath a shroud of glitter and pancake makeup lies the heartless, treble-heavy dissonance that is Portland's Glass Candy and the Shattered Theatre. As the stubbornly uncompromising puppeteer behind the band's meticulous trademark, guitarist Johnny Jewel molds and manages every miniscule aspect of the Class Candy façade--from their gorgeously elaborate Kinko's-craft artwork, to the Aladdin Sane sheen of their live performance--with a perfect figurehead in frontwoman Ida No, the band's shriekingly larger-than-life vocalist. With their heavily appropriated... well... everything, Glass Candy is at worst a phenomenal cover band (from the Shangri-Las to Roxy Music, and with a little Josie Cotton thrown in for good measure), and at best an insular revivalist movement. ZAC PENNINGTON
THE STROKES, SLOAN
(Paramount Theatre) See preview, page 45. If ever there was a reason for those of you who are fashionably late to show up early for the Strokes show, it would be to catch opening act Sloan. Nova Scotia's favorite sons are a power pop band that take their cues from the Who, the Stones, and the Beatles, only to rework them in such a way that you end up falling off your seat in awe, wondering why the shit hasn't hit the fan sooner. They have five studio albums and one double-live disc under their belt and have yet to break the underground. But now that people have caught the nostalgia bug that the Strokes created, maybe Sloan will get their due. FRANK NIETO
KARATE, AUDIO LEARNING CENTER, LANDS FARTHER EAST
(Paradox) After managing to overcome his emo-core roots garnered in such D.C. bands as Rites of Spring and Embrace, the now Boston-based Geoff Farina has taken an almost jazzy route with Karate, writing songs about daily details that become anything but mundane once he's brought their poetic significance to effortless attention. Karate's new album, Some Boots (Southern), is equally rewarding and wanking, and I'd be lying if I didn't admit that hearing Farina's voice makes me think he's a dead ringer for the late, great Phil Lynott. KATHLEEN WILSON
MONDAY NIGHT HOOT
(Chop Suey) The Monday Night Hoot is the brainchild of S.F. resident Eric Shea, who became my booking hero after I dropped by one of his events a couple of years ago. A bevy of talented singer/songwriters took the stage and performed appetizer-sized sets--one, two, three songs apiece that left the audience wanting to hear more. It's a brilliant way to expose yourself to a selection of artists you might not have heard--and the quality control is stringent enough to insure that you'll later find yourself actively seeking out the performers you've witnessed. (Plus, if for some reason you don't quite cotton to some of the participants, they're done before you know it....) Mr. Shea, his local partner-in-crime Tristan McKay, and 764-HERO's John Atkins head up the proceedings tonight, although the structure of the Hoot guarantees room for last-minute drop-ins and surprise guests. Let the soft rock renaissance begin! BARBARA MITCHELL
TUESDAY 10/22
DO MAKE SAY THINK, FLY PAN AM
(Paradox) Attention all Elephant 6 collective fans: Neutral Milk Hotel's next record will be arriving at roughly the same time the Middle East reaches a peaceful state. It is time to accept that Jeff Mangum has left the building and transfer our affections for really weird indie rock elsewhere (besides, Apples in Stereo just aren't that good anymore). Montreal's Constellation Records is the new base of operations for smart, experimental art punks with a fondness for bizarre instrumentation. Best known for releasing the creepy, atmospheric field recordings of Godspeed You Black Emperor!, the burgeoning label also fosters the tape-splicing savvy of Fly Pan Am and the uneasy beauty of Do Make Say Think, an excellent experimental ensemble that formed around the improvisations of jazz bassist and trumpeter Charles Spearin. Bring money for merch too--Constellation's records are packaged so beautifully, you won't be able to leave without buying something. HANNAH LEVIN
G. LOVE AND SPECIAL SAUCE, SLIGHTLY STOOPID
(Showbox) At least the opening act on this bill is only "slightly" stupid. G. Love and Special Sauce unfortunately can't make the same claim. The pop collage artist mixes tepid hiphop beats, watered-down back-porch blues, and wanky funk in an unfocused, lite version of everything Beck has since done a million times better at his Middle America worst. G. Love is the soundtrack for settling into suburban complacency one slow track at a time. JENNIFER MAERZ
WEDNESDAY 10/23
ELECTROCLASH TOUR W/PEACHES, CHICKS ON SPEED, TRACY + THE PLASTICS, LARRY TEE
(EMP) See preview, page 39.
