Music

Up & Coming

Friday 10/17


GRANDADDY, ELBOW, STARLIGHT MINTS
(Showbox) See preview, page 39.

RADIO NATIONALS, RICHMOND FONTAINE, MOONSHINE HANGOVER
(Tractor) See Drunk by Noon, page 48.

TRÄD, GRÄS OCH STENAR, SUSHIROBO, KINSKI
(Crocodile) See preview, page 43.

CURSIVE, THE BLOOD BROTHERS, CRITERIA, DJ FUCKING IN THE STREETS
(Graceland, early) See All Ages Action, page 57, and Stranger Suggests, page 25.

THE CAPILLARIES, THE HOLY GHOST REVIVAL, THE CLOROX GIRLS, BLACK LIPS
(Sunset, late) There are certain lines on local band the Capillaries' new disc, Overnight Lows and Daylight Savings, that are pure poetry. Broken hearts could find shelter in the common ground traveled through lyrics like "My heart don't weigh one-seventh of your shadow" ("It's Always You, It Never Is") and "I tell my brain to stop/it may be major depression/but I'm sleeping you off" ("Sleeping You Off"), or the lost pleas of "Don't Leave Me Til After X-Mas, Please." Songs of moving in and out of homes, relationships, and hope haunt this record like the spirits around the fresh grave of a love gone cold. Set it all to Posies/Arlo-influenced pop, and you still can feel the sting resonating after the subtle harmonies fall silent. JENNIFER MAERZ

BACCHUS, CITY PLUMS, MARCUS DAILY MANSION
(2nd Avenue Pizza) Although they're only about a year old, Marcus Daily Mansion have done well for themselves. The band fits nicely into the Fugazi family tree, where musical equations sound tightly focused, highly concentrated, and carefully calculated, overlaying slow-burning buildups with a pulsing punk intensity. The singer's vocals range from heavy breathing and Ian Svenonius-style sexuality to more straight-up frustration, but he never loosens the reins enough to lose control completely, adding a sense of compounding implosions to their songs. JENNIFER MAERZ

KMFDM, BILE
(Catwalk) Formed almost 20 years ago in Paris, KMFDM remains devoted to driving drumbeats, aggressive vocals, and expertly arranged electro-angst. An ever-evolving entity, with founding member En Esch and much-maligned singer Tim Skold among the latest departures, KMFDM transcends personnel changes with its consistent quality. For assurance about a new release, all longtime fans need to see is one of Brute!'s stark, graphic-novel-style album covers, which have inspired more brand loyalty than any bold corporate logo. On WWIII, KMFDM's latest cathartic death-disco blast, the group mines the current political climate with riveting results, unleashing unprecedented lyrical and rhythmic firepower. ANDREW MILLER

Saturday 10/18


BLACK LIPS, ELECTRIC BLANKET
(Comet) See Stranger Suggests, page 25.

BLUE SKY MILE, HUM MACHINE, KANE HODDER
(downtown YMCA) See All Ages Action, page 57.

Sunday 10/19


WEEZER TRIBUTE NIGHT WITH DOLOUR, THE LASHES, FRIENDS FOR HEROES, [HA-OKE^], THE DOBBS, THE PREONS, GUESTS
(Graceland) When Weezer's album Pinkerton came out, it was love at first listen for me. Then the band released Maladroit, and frontman Rivers Cuomo began collaborating with Fred Durst. Ouch. I still long for the days when Weezer was dorky and innocent, loving lesbians from afar and admiring the glow-in-the-dark stars on a crush's cello. I'm not the only one unable to fall out of love with the band, though: Tonight a handful of local groups will play their own renditions of their favorite Weezer tunes. Let's hope someone out there has enough love of old B-sides like "Waiting on You," "Thief, You've Taken All That Was Me," and "I Just Threw Out the Love of My Dreams" to bring back a few blissful moments of the band's past. MEGAN SELING

AFI, POISON THE WELL, AUTOPILOT OFF
(Paramount) Remember when AFI frontman Davey Havok would play a show wearing only jeans and a T-shirt (before the man started strangely morphing into Glenn Danzig)? I remember those days too, and I loved 'em, but just because Havok's wardrobe has since been invaded by vinyl, latex, glitter, and fishnets, that doesn't mean AFI can't continue to put on one of the best live shows I've ever seen. They knocked the wind out of me opening for Sick of It All back in '99, and still, fishnets be damned, AFI fucking tears the house apart, even if the house is three times the size and filled with five times as many fans (and a whole gaggle of Good Charlotte T-shirts). MEGAN SELING

Monday 10/20


PAPA M (Feat. Members of SLINT and ZWAN), PAPERBACK, BRIGHTBLACK
(Chop Suey) Precocious Will Oldham acolyte Dave Pajo (AKA Papa M) specializes in side projects. Before he landed in Billy Corgan's thrilling but now-defunct pop project Zwan, he was everywhere else at once: forming Slint, playing in a billion bands (Royal Trux, Palace Brothers, Tortoise, Stereolab), and acting as go-to guy for all things lo-fi, bare bones, and Drag City. The Papa M twist on acoustic country death isn't--refreshingly--so brooding or hopeless as some of Pajo's fellow, sullen Louisville homeboys. MEGHAN SUTHERLAND

HOWIE DAY, MATT NATHANSON, LIZZIE WEST
(Graceland) At 22 years old, New England-bred boy-man Howie Day has already crafted two albums of lovelorn balladry and lush acoustic strumming. He's got major work to do before he catches up with sunny folk soul brothers like David Gray, Jack Johnson, and Pete Yorn--if only because his poignant refrains concern nothing but love. Love as a journey, love at the break of dawn, and love on a rainy day (there's even a large picture of a puddle in his liner notes). As silly as it seems, we can't help but be smitten. MEGHAN SUTHERLAND

Tuesday 10/21


GUIDED BY VOICES, THE GO, DJ CHILD OF THE MOON (lounge)
(Graceland) See preview, page 39.

THE RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS, THE FLAMING LIPS, MIKE WATT
(KeyArena) In the years since Wayne Coyne went from psych-flunky to pop messiah, the Flaming Lips have produced a string of records--from Hit to Death in the Future Head to last year's Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots--whose body rightfully surmounts any other major-label rock band at work today. The band is the lone argument for the support of a major label--the Lips are the only band in the world who've actually improved upon signing to one. These things, they go without question. The only question, honestly, is why in God's name would such an amazing band keep playing such painful fucking tours? From the endless string of package festivals to this slot with whatIgotchagottagivitoyomamma, it's almost enough to question the whole business. ZAC PENNINGTON

RAVI SHANKAR AND ANOUSHKA
(Paramount) Many years ago, a musician who was a member of the most popular band in the history of Western Civilization decided to learn to play a classical Indian instrument from an Indian master. The instrument was the sitar, the master was Ravi Shankar, the rock star was George Harrison. Harrison is now dead, but Ravi Shankar, whose first name became the first name of John Coltrane's son (Ravi Coltrane), is alive, well, over 80 years old, and now performing concerts with his daughter, Anoushka Shankar (and not his other daughter, and half-sister to Anoushka, the superstar jazz singer Norah Jones, whose mother was ditched by the sitar master). If you can look over the fact that Ravi is beloved by zillions of hippies and snobby avant-garde types, you will find in his music more than a thousand pleasures. CHARLES MUDEDE

KUMA, THE DEAD SCIENCE, THE AUTUMN PROJECT
(Crocodile) It's in some unfortunate musical purgatory that Seattle's willfully esoteric trio the Dead Science lie--someplace between direct, sentiment-fueled rock and clinically collegiate jazz--a mix that keeps them at arm's length from just about everyone who'd respond to either immediate facet of their sound. Which is a shame. As evidenced on their recent Submariner (released on Absolutely Kosher Records), the Dead Science are some of the most skilled, thoughtful musicians in this city, who still make an effort to pander to all of us ill-informed pop-obsessives who just can't seem to comprehend anything but 4/4 time. And thank God for that. ZAC PENNINGTON

WEDNESDAY 10/22


BETH GIBBONS, RUSTIN MAN, ALEXI MURDOCH
(EMP Sky Church) See Data Breaker, page 55.

THE ITALS, LITTLE BIG MAN
(Ballard Firehouse) Beloved by super rock group the Rolling Stones--who included the Itals song "In a Dis Ya Time" in their Artist's Choice CD for Starbucks--the Itals have been around since the peak of Jamaican pop, the mid-'70s. The band's 1983 LP Give Me Power! is a late and great work of roots reggae for two reasons: its third track, "Me Waan Justice," which I consider to be one of the most perfect gems of the roots reggae form; and its cover, which depicts three large-muscled, black, naked, and moody Rastamen in chains, like African slaves freshly captured in a jungle. The image on the cover is meant to reflect the music on the LP, which is percussive, earthy, and very, very Ital. CHARLES MUDEDE

THE GLASSES, THE LIGHTS, THE TURN-ONS
(Chop Suey) Some of the credit for the Lights' debut, Beautiful Bird, must go to local pop enthusiast Erik Blood, who recorded that fine platter. So just wait till you hear what he's done with his own ensemble, the Turn-Ons, on their forthcoming East. Jettisoning all but trace elements of their early glam incarnation, while retaining the psychedelic bent, the group serves up wave upon wave of guitars that, in the best shoegazer tradition, swell from delicacy to ferocity, then subside back into calm--often on the same cut. Hell, they've even got live strings. Quit pretending that the fact the My Bloody Valentine dude finally eked out a couple songs for Lost in Translation is a big deal, and go check out the Turn-Ons' live show, which, thanks to a new manager and some recent L.A. showcases, is reportedly tighter than ever. KURT B. REIGHLEY

HOT CROSS, LICKGOLDENSKY, ANODYNE, PLAYING ENEMY
(2nd Avenue Pizza) Hot Cross' music is mathy, melodic, dynamic post-hardcore that, when working, owes a debt to At the Drive-In, and builds intensity through the driving riffs on their debut, Cryonics. But the vocals are a mix of on-key backing choruses and dry-throated bellowing--a combo that pushes things too far into that dreaded "screamo" territory for my taste. Maybe it's a completely different thing live, I dunno. This show should be worth it for the hardcore-metal intensity of Playing Enemy alone, though--just steer clear of bassist Shane Mehling, whose instrument can turn into a de facto weapon when he gets that Exorcist gleam in his eye. JENNIFER MAERZ

PEACHES, ELECTROCUTE, KISSKISSKISS
(Showbox) After three years and innumerable reissues, Peaches finally released the follow-up to her debut, in the eye-rolling form of Fatherfucker. Just in case you thought electroclash needed another death nail. Thankfully, the bloated synth-whale (and its stupid haircut) officially beached itself some time ago--and for the good of all of us--but who would have envisioned this kind of carnage? Put simply, Fatherfucker is the sort of record that causes you to project deep, patronizing embarrassment on its creator, on its collaborators (who include Iggy Pop and Taylor Savvy), on its record label... hell, on any store that even stocks it. I give it one year before the used understock of The Teaches of Peaches at Sonic Boom rivals R.E.M.'s Monster. One year. ZAC PENNINGTON

PEARL JAM
(Benaroya Hall) Because there is almost literally nothing you or I can say about Pearl Jam that hasn't already been said, I'll leave it here: Having accomplished its goal of sloughing off the yoke of megafame, the band now finds itself in the position of being able to play a benefit show at a local opera house--armed only with acoustic guitars and the goodwill of tenacious fans--without causing riots in the street or think pieces on the page. That might not be everyone's idea of success, but then again, not everyone spent the '90s being in Pearl Jam. SEAN NELSON

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