From the Apr 24 – Apr 30, 2003 issue

Music

Up & Coming

THURSDAY 4/24


PEDRO THE LION, THE STRATFORD 4, ESTER DRANG
(Graceland) I have a weird sense of geographic privilege that allows me to look incredulously on music from Oklahoma. Somewhere deep down, I assume folks in the Sooner State spend all their time hunkering down in the tornado shelter, cut off from all things indie rock. Where this vision comes from, I'm not sure; the Flaming Lips and the Starlight Mints are from Oklahoma, and it's never bothered me. And now, Tulsa's Ester Drang come along with a gorgeous, flowing record that practically drips with the essence of cool. Infinite Keys, the band's first release on Jade Tree and third overall, is the aural equivalent of cloud-watching: As you listen, a gorgeous array of analog and digital keyboards, spacy guitars, and forlorn vocals shift imperceptibly into new shapes and moods. It's music for daydreaming, chasing dust bunnies, and yes, for hiding during a tornado watch. TIZZY ASHER

FRIDAY 4/25


Mason Jennings, the decemberists, memphis radio kings
(Crocodile) See preview, page 47.

YEAH YEAH YEAHS, THE ICARUS LINE, THE THERMALS
(Showbox) For anyone who checked out on the Yeah Yeah Yeahs after that last EP, Machine (which I actually liked), come back: The band's debut full-length, Fever to Tell, gets six stars out of five in my book. The record is sleazy as an art punk rolling around on a loft-party floor--all sex and pomp and broken stilettos and smashed champagne bottles one moment, and quiet corners and tear-smeared mascara the next. Singer Karen O just as easily rolls out a beg, a gasp, or a bark as she does a growl, getting my prize for one of the most unusual and entertaining voices in the post-punk world--especially when she sings lines like "I got a man who makes me wanna kill." Remember how raw early PJ Harvey sounded? This is better--especially when the emotions take a sharp turn, as on "Y Control," when O admits, "I wish I could buy back the woman you stole," or on "Modern Romance," the album's somber, beautiful coda. Guitarist Nick Zinner adds the rhythmic spikes and drummer Brian Chase sets the beat for the strut on my second call for best album of 2003 already (the other being the Blood Brothers' Burn Piano Island, Burn). JENNIFER MAERZ Also see preview, page 43.

FELICIA LOUD AND THE SOUL
(About the Music) Felicia Loud is one of the most talented people in the Pacific Northwest. Not only can she sing like something out of a dream, but she can also act; she gave a stunning performance in a recent stage adaptation of Maya Angelou's I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, despite her broken leg. I believe her leg must have recovered by now, but if it hasn't it doesn't matter, because her voice is still there for you to admire. I don't know if she has anything new coming out, but Jasiri Media Group's wonderful CD Word, Sound, Power, which came out four or so years ago, features her on two tracks--one of which, "Child's Play," seems inspired by preternatural forces. Felicia Loud is the Jean Cocteau of soul. CHARLES MUDEDE

SUPERSUCKERS (CD RELEASE), THE ONES, AGENT 86
(EMP) I know it's easy to take the Supersuckers for granted--it's been a while since they released a proper studio album, and if you love them, you've seen them a billion times already. Plus, it's hard to beat records like The Greatest Rock 'n' Roll Band in the World and The Evil Powers of Rock 'n' Roll--but their new CD, Motherfuckers Be Trippin', is worth a listen. It starts with a tongue-in-cheek account of how they're outta style--"Rock 'n' Roll Records (They Ain't Sellin' This Year)"--as frontman Eddie Spaghetti laments watching "shit bands get rich." Other good tracks include "Bruises to Prove It," which calls the command to get trashed, and "Goodbye," the trigger for the beer-sloshed mosh pits to jump into action. Overall, I can't say I like Motherfuckers as much as the other two records mentioned, but even a sub-par Supersuckers record still has more hooks than most anthem-heavy punk rock 'n' roll acts out there. JENNIFER MAERZ

MESHUGGAH, STRAPPING YOUNG LAD
(Graceland) Vancouver's Strapping Young Lad, the primary vehicle for charismatic vocalist-guitarist Devin Townsend (also a solo artist and in-demand producer), take way-underground thrash, death, and black metal influences and melt them into a bombastic, sensory-overloading hybrid that remains surprisingly user-friendly. Much of that has to do with Townsend's vocals: He can scream and shout, but he can actually sing, too, with an over-the-top metal spirit even Dio fans can relate to. While past album titles such as Heavy as a Really Heavy Thing have shown Townsend and co.'s sense of humor, their latest, simply entitled SYL, is a bleak, timely statement on the futility of war. It's also one of the best all-around metal albums of the year so far. Swedish math-thrash phenoms Meshuggah headline, bringing with them a similar mix of out-there songwriting complexity and old-fashioned heavyweight metal brawn. WILLIAM YORK

PUNK ROCK PROM w/THE PROM, DOLOUR, THE YELLOW PRESS, Gats & Guitars, DJ Jake
(Old Fire House) It's springtime--and for high-school kids across the nation, that means it's prom time. But some kids might not find a good time in bad DJs and spiked punch, so the Old Fire House is coming to the rescue by hosting its very own "punk rock prom," featuring music by the Prom, Dolour, and the Yellow Press. Hopefully you're all familiar with the Prom and Dolour, seeing as how both acts have been slowly taking over Seattle's music scene (the Prom via pianos, and Dolour via posters). The Yellow Press have a spastic sort of pop-ish sound, as far as I can tell, but it's a good brand of spastic that'll be fun to dance to. You don't need a date for this show, but you're encouraged to don your best prom attire (and you get two bucks off the seven-dollar admission price if you do). MEGAN SELING

THE LAZY COWGIRLS, MIDNIGHT THUNDER EXPRESS
(Comet) Pat Todd, and the long dusty road traveled by his various Lazy Cowgirls lineups, is the stuff of barstool boo-hoos over the injustice of this g'damn world. Were this, as it's often burped, a "perfect world," rubbing Todd's shiny dome would be tantamount to patting ol' Buddha and having all your prayers answered. If you're a fan of the purest distillation of rootsy rock 'n' roll, Todd has answered your prayers tenfold since unleashing his Cowgirls two decades ago. In that span, this bull-plop planet has summarily ignored his work--as fine a pile of beer 'n' soul hoist noise as has been produced by any band, ever. Dig especially How It Looks, How It Is (1990, Sympathy for the Record Industry) and Ragged Soul (1995, Crypt), though all Cowgirls records are needable. So shall we boo-hoo some more, or dance again to the ageless inspirational backbone slip that is the Lazy Cowgirls? ERIC DAVIDSON

SATURDAY 4/26


PRETTY GIRLS MAKE GRAVES, BROADCAST OBLIVION, DANCE DISASTER MOVEMENT
(Graceland) Like a sonic tornado, Pretty Girls Make Graves spun into Seattle's napping local music scene and knocked its citizens out of their houses and back into the clubs. Yes, they're that good--and if you're feeling a little sluggish, all you need is one shot of singer Andrea Zollo's crackling energy and you're back, maybe even with a fist raised in the air. And it bears saying that despite their blistering two-guitar brawn, Pretty Girls are undeniably bass-led. Broadcast Oblivion pack as much power as the headliners, but bend it into a pop form that is both smooth and angular. KATHLEEN WILSON Also see preview, page 44.

VIC CHESNUTT, M. WARD
(Tractor) After Vic Chesnutt shared a bill with Kristin Hersh a year or so back, I heard someone grumble that he was too depressing. I can see how people could say that... if they weren't very perceptive, had never had any real heartbreak or ache in their life, or were just plain dumb. Maybe it's because he is paralyzed from the waist down and plays poignant, droll folk-rock that he puts some people off. Reality can do that. With his cracked, wry delivery scuttling around his songs, Chesnutt has one of the most distinctive voices in music today. His latest album, Silver Lake, is probably his best since Is the Actor Happy? : It's a deeply satisfying album with sharply observed lyrics that spool out into chatty abstraction and back again. Chesnutt is backed by a solid simpatico band that knows just where to punch up his songs. And if you want a really depressing musical experience, close your eyes, open Blender, and pick a page. Voila! NATE LIPPENS

MULL HISTORICAL SOCIETY
(Showbox Green Room) In the absence of some gigantic British seaside music hall, the Green Room might be the ideal place to see Mull Historical Society, a one-man band from Scotland that specializes in elaborate bedroom pop in a late-'60s vein. Because of MHS' hi-lo-fi aesthetic, a performance at the Green Room--which in many ways is like the inside of a four-track machine (not quite as big, but with better service and stronger drinks)--promises to capture the imagination side of the project ("to the friends in my head") far better than a show in a proper rock club ever could. I don't mean to suggest that the records, including the fantastic new Us, are anything other than impeccably produced. It's just that the songs evoke a private landscape best served by intimate surroundings. SEAN NELSON

SUNDAY 4/27


HOLY MOLAR, XBXRX, EX MODELS, JOHNNY X & THE GROADIES, SLEETMUTE/NIGHTMUTE
(Graceland) See Stranger Suggests, page 21.

SUB POP ANNIVERSARY SHOW w/SAM BEAM, JAMES MERCER, ROSIE THOMAS, THE CONSTANTINES, THE THERMALS, KINSKI
(Crocodile) Over the years, Sub Pop has hosted a number of excellent bands--from Zen Guerrilla and Mudhoney to the Catheters and beyond. The label continues to spread into new genres over the years, though, getting into neo-folk, space rock, and low-fi indie pop--the latter showcased in this excellent lineup selected from its roster. From troubadours James Mercer (the Shins), Sam Beam (Iron and Wine), and Rosie Thomas, to the hyper-pop of the Thermals and Kinski's expansive experimentation, the lineup has something for everyone--and they're adding Canada's excellent Constantines to the family, who will have a record out on the label in August. As part of Sub Pop's 15th anniversary celebration, the label is throwing a party that will give all proceeds to the Vera Project, making this night a great showcase for a great cause. JENNIFER MAERZ

DRUNK HORSE, TOTFINDER
(Sunset) The new Drunk Horse release, Adult Situations, sounds, much like all the other Drunk Horse records, like a bearded, Southern boogie band swimming in stoner rock--except that this record's their best yet. With songs about "Fried Chicken Cadillac," "Lube Jobs," and "One Dollar Records," these guys don't hide their affection for the cheap and greasy, and musically that makes for a damn good record. Adult Situations makes you want to drive a truck up into the mountains with a bottle of whiskey and a six-pack of Pabst and play air guitar around a campfire until the sun comes up. Produced by the Fucking Champs' Tim Green, there are enough heavy guitar-solo buildups, skeezy ZZ Top-style vocals, and psychedelic flairs to slap a silly grin across your face. JENNIFER MAERZ

MONDAY 4/28


THE LIBERTINES, THE LASHES, STADTMILLER
(Crocodile) I've spent the last half hour agonizing over how to write about London's Libertines, whose debut, Up the Bracket, has me hyperventilating like no rock record since Doolittle. The obvious path is comparison, praising the Libertines as the next great thing in the recent media-created "rock revival," and hyping Up the Bracket for taking postmodern posing to a fierce new level of passion and musicality. But that doesn't do justice to a band that manages to compress 50 years of rock 'n' roll (and 25 years of punk) into a series of explosions all their own. If they're half as impressive onstage as they are on record, this should be a night to remember. DAVID SCHMADER

TUESDAY 4/29


THE PEPPERMINTS, SHOPLIFTING, EL GUAPO, UP UP
(Crocodile) See Stranger Suggests, page 21.

RIVULETS, THE STARES
(Showbox Green Room) Probably most noted for his association with the Duluth-based record label Chairkickers' Union (run by the members of Low), Nathan Amundson's music falls squarely where you might expect based on such bleak association. Performing under the name Rivulets, the recent Seattle import rides the bummer in a nearly barren landscape of reverb and restrained melody--not unlike the quieter moments of early Low and the rest of their sadly departed slowcore contemporaries. ZAC PENNINGTON

WEDNESDAY 4/30


THE POSTAL SERVICE, Cex, XIU XIU
(Crocodile) Whoa. Is it just me, or does this show represent the most delightfully ridiculous sonic juxtaposition of all time? On one side you've got your Postal Service: the side project of Death Cab's Ben Gibbard that finds the singer's uniformly fuzzy-sweater pop vocals fused with IDM clicks and blips--the latest in the recent tweelectronica onslaught. Give Up, the band's recent debut, is packed to the gills with syrupy non sequiturs, perfect-pitch harmonies, and cloyingly affected cuteness--and as embarrassed as I am to say this, I just can't stop listening. Then you've got your Xiu Xiu: the most absurd, wistfully over-the-top aural implosion in our deeply honored city. Just off their tragically brief, two-day national tour--cut short as a result of a crippling theft of the band's extremely specialized equipment--the amended, extra despondent Xiu Xiu Redux make their tentative return with tender wounds. The showroom's mass exodus as they take the stage should alone be worth the ticket price--I predict bloodshed. ZAC PENNINGTON

JOHNNY MARR & THE HEALERS, GUESTS
(Graceland) For those who are either 12 years old and a year or so ahead of their first major depression, or just plain retarded, I say this with eyes spun so far back in my head they're stuck that way: Johnny Marr was the guy who played the wonderfully jangly guitar in the Smiths. If the sound wasn't coming out of Morrissey's maw, then it was no doubt Marr's fingers making the sound that can still keep a Smiths song stuck in your head for years at a time. Got it? Duh! Marr's new band the Healers have a debut album called Boomslang, and it's rife with trademark jangle and is pleasantly shambolic and sweetly psychedelic. Let go the roar of "How Soon Is Now" and the shiver of "That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore" and you'll appreciate it much more. KATHLEEN WILSON

POPULAR SHAPES, THE NEW MEXICANS
(Showbox Green Room) From the moment I arrived panting to I-Spy on a Sunday afternoon after hearing they were on stage, the New Mexicans have been one of my top 10 favorite bands in Seattle. With their perfectly synched guitar assault and mid-'90s reference point, they've quickly become a standout in the club scene. The band should have a debut CD ready in the next few months. Headliners Popular Shapes have a lot to say and a compelling singer who begs to be heard. While they're certainly good, my unwavering opinion that the band as a whole just isn't saying anything all that extraordinary stands in the minority given their confoundable presence--I don't think I've ever been forced to see a band I felt only so-so about as many times as this. KATHLEEN WILSON

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