AFRIKA BAMBAATAA, MR. SUPREME
(Chop Suey) Afrika Bambaataa rapped, whoomped, and percolated into music history with 1982's "Planet Rock" and "Looking for the Perfect Beat," populist fusions of hiphop and electro and crucial artifacts in electronic music's evolution. He furthered his rep with Time Zone's self-righteously furious 1984 underground hit "World Destruction." Since then he's released some respectable records, but nothing as important as those earlier efforts. His latest, Dark Matter Moving at the Speed of Light is another serviceable exhibition of funk's flexible, joyous nature--reeling in Indian, African ("Soul Makossa," a funktified version of jazz saxophonist Manu Dibango's 1972 hit), synth-pop (Gary Numan's "Metal" with the mandroid himself singing), and '80s electro influences. But Dark Matter never does anything extraordinary, and the lyrics are unspeakably banal. Still, for artists of Bambaataa's age, merely not embarrassing yourself is a triumph. DAVE SEGAL
HELMET, INSTRUCTION
(Graceland) Helmet's latest release, Size Matters, is a return to their mammoth riffage--as the name suggests--the atmospheric walls of distortion painting big, and with precious little subtlety. It's been over a decade since the band first wrought this iron, though, and Size Matters--echoing perhaps the dumbness its title also suggests--takes cerebral avant-metal scion Page Hamilton's vision nowhere new. Elephantine riffs of laser-cut perfection? Check. Awkward and impenetrable lyrics delivered in stentorian bark? Check. We've been here before, on better albums. Most damningly, opener "Smart" sinks the game from the start, thieving its dynamic wholesale from Helmet's own "I Know." While serviceable, Size Matters is nothing special, recalling UK music mag Melody Maker's review of 1994's Betty, which suggested the bulk of Helmet's junk metal was good for nothing but recycling into something fresher by the likes of Young Gods. A decade later and, perhaps unsurprisingly, these words ring true. STEVIE CHICK
IMMORTAL LEE COUNTY KILLERS, STAR SPANGLED BASTARDS
(Crocodile) It's hard to call a band "blues punk" if they're not the Immortal Lee County Killers. Jon Spencer's out-shticked himself and the Black Keys are blander than day-old dry toast. ILCK, however, really punk out the Delta blues--they're a screaming, hollering, garagey two piece who make every live show feel like their last ever. Meaning there are a lot of mental breakdown performances, howling at the moon, and treating the drum kit like a wild animal being beaten to death--which, when you're dealing with issues of torment, heartbreak, and burning yourself on the fryer, count as appropriate expressions of roller-coaster emotion. JENNIFER MAERZ
GOOD CHARLOTTE, SUM 41, HAZEN STREET, LOLA RAY
(Paramount) Benji Madden, the eyelinered jerk from Good Charlotte, has started his own record label with twin brother Joel. Now I'm not one to EVER condone anything having to do with Good Charlotte, but their first signing, Lola Ray, isn't that bad. I don't know if it's because my expectations were low, or if their brand of glammy pop is actually decent. "Goodnight Fenno" has an electronic Cure feel to it, while "Time Is Industry" sounds remarkably like Brand New at times. It's catchy, that's for sure, but as my friend Eric would remind me, "So is syphilis." Only seeing 'em live will allow for a final verdict. MEGAN SELING
FRIDAY 10/22
INTERPOL, SECRET MACHINES
(Paramount) See preview, page 41 and Stranger Suggests, page 27.
HIMSA, KANE HODDER, CLAYMORE, BLACK HEART EULOGY, STILL LIFE PROJECTOR
(Graceland) See preview, page 37.
FALL OF TROY, MON FRERE, A KISS FAREWELL, FOUR AM
(Old Fire House) See All Ages Action, page 57.
OFFICIAL INTERPOL AFTER-PARTY: CARLOS D, BEANS, DOUG THE HURRICANE WARRIOR
(Chop Suey) This is the official Interpol after-party (featuring a DJ set by that group's Carlos D), but Beans is the real main attraction. Supporting his third synapse-sizzling disc, Shock City Maverick, the horny ex-Antipop Consortium genius boasts one of the most commanding, rhythmic flows in hiphop, specializing in surreal tongue twisters declaimed with distinctive precision (imagine Last Poets reciting E. E. Cummings' verse). "I walk a tightrope wearing two left shoes," Beans boasts in "Blind Driver," making you realize cockiness can actually be clever. You won't even mind when you hear him press "play" on his CD Walkman between songs. DAVE SEGAL
STEVE TURNER, WHITING TENNIS
(Sunset) Steve Turner's softer, earthier side was uprooted upon the release of his first solo record, Searching for Melody. Fans of the Mudhoney guitarist gazed bewilderingly at the bearded longhair as he cradled an acoustic guitar and announced his love of Joan Baez and the Grateful Dead. But Turner couldn't hide the punk, so he wryly dubbed this unamplified brand of music "skate-folk" and made it a critical hit. Now, still shaggy but armed with a crew of Bad Ideas, Turner has delivered a grander, more amplified eponymous album that gives light to his varied talents, from garage ("Zero on the Scale"), to vocal duets ("A Beautiful Winter"), to Bo Diddley beats ("I Want You in My Arms"). Fleshing out the record are guests including Anne Marie Ruljancich (Jesse Sykes), Dan Peters (Mudhoney), and Stone Gossard (Pearl Jam). But the most significant Bad Idea is the subtle Johnny Sangster of Dear John Letters, whose skillful fretwork is a perfect foil for Turner's. This album is loaded with great blues riffs and clever lyrics, not to mention Turner's warm voice, which finds its equal in Miss Holly Golightly. As the two trade lines in "A Beautiful Winter," they parallel the best male/female country vocal duos around. BRIAN J. BARR
SATURDAY 10/23
DERRICK MAY (THE INNOVATOR), JERRY ABSTRACT, NORDIC SOUL
(Chop Suey) See Data Breaker, page 54.
KANE HODDER, SCHOOLYARD HEROES, THE DIVORCE, STILL LIFE PROJECTOR, THE CATCH
(The Roxy, Bremerton) See preview, page 37.
DRIVE-BY TRUCKERS, CENTRO-MATIC, RUNNER & THE THERMODYNAMICS
(Showbox) See preview, page 43.
MURDOCK, ELECTRIC FRANKENSTEIN, THE NASTY ON
(Graceland) See Live Wire, page 44.
BEN LEE, PONY UP, RECLINERLAND
(Crocodile) Breathing Tornadoes and Something to Remember Me By were my jams. My JAMS! Ben Lee, Australia's most powerful argument against Silverchair, has typically proved himself to be a solid, if plaintive, songwriter--his bedroom pop's sweet mellow perfectly foiled Angela Chase's so-called angst when the two went out, catapulting Lee to some sort of weird Hollywood indie stardom that's now become commonplace with, like, Febreeze and Barrymore or Mary Kate & Ashley's crush on the Postal Service. Now, even though Jason Schwartzman routinely takes over bass duties in Lee's band, the residue of purely circumstantial Hollywood sparkle seems to burden the singer like leftover Halloween glitter ya find while vacuuming in December. Unfortunately, whether Hollywood's the root cause of Lee's recent vacuous songwriting isn't the issue: The issue is that, lately, he's been spoiling his pristine hooks with bummer lyrics like, "Baby, catch my disease!" What happened to yer storytelling, like "Ketchum" or "Deep Talk from the Shallow End," buddy? JOAN HILLER
JUANA MOLINA
(Sunset, early) This Argentinean singer/songwriter used to be a popular TV comedienne in Buenos Aires, but she canned that job in 1996 and embarked on a musical career. Juana Molina's breezy coo recalls the lavender-tinted soul-bliss of Astrud Gilberto and the icewater inflections of Ivy's Dominique Durand--heady company, for sure. You can imagine Molina's understated songs seamlessly slotting into sets featuring Savath & Savalas, the Sea & Cake, and all of Stereolab's side projects. Molina's second album, Segundo, is full of pretty, flower-petal-soft indie-rock tunes that purr, murmur, and bubble with subtle electronics. The recent Tres Cosas offers 13 more soothing, intimate folktronica gems. This music's fluff, but it's charming, chill-inducing fluff. Molina is the introverted, thinking person's diva. DAVE SEGAL
THE MISTREATERS, THE BASEBALL FURIES
(Sunset, late) Buffalo, NY beast the Baseball Furies got the ball rolling in 1996, in the midst of a mid-'90s wave of trashy rockers like the Devil Dogs, Supersuckers, New Bomb Turks, etc. The Furies' amazing All-American Psycho EP (Flying Bomb, 1999) was a frazzled, hyper highpoint of that "punk 'n' roll" trend. Horrible genre name, for sure, but it was never much of a marketable movement. When the distillation of it came in the form of "neo-garage," the Furies were there, too, as their garbage-truck-off-a-cliff caterwaul got captured perfectly by Detroit scene producer Jim Diamond on Greater Than Ever (Big Neck), the most viscerally uncontrollable rock record of 2002. But the words "beast," "caterwaul," and "visceral" don't get uttered too often at the VMAs, do they? So the Furies have remained a cult thing. It didn't help that their recorded output then screeched to a halt, and touring ceased. But this sudden tour, and word of a new record, Let It Be (Big Neck), means they're back in action, surviving another trend, punk 'n' rolling on... ERIC DAVIDSON
SUNDAY 10/24
Don't get bossy.
MONDAY 10/25
METRIC, MIDNIGHT MOVES
(Neumo's) See Stranger Suggests, page 27.
A CHANGE OF PACE, SCARY KIDS, THE CHEMISTRY, THE LAST GREAT LIAR
(Graceland) The Last Great Liar seem to have mastered the formula of tumultuous, melodic rock that builds to explosive, anthemic choruses. On their yet-to-be-released record (which they recorded with Joe Reineke, who also recorded Schoolyard Heroes' The Funeral Sciences), the band tear through dynamic compositions of sonic frustration. It's not an unfamiliar sound, by any means, but it's done exceedingly well. MEGAN SELING
TUESDAY 10/26
HOLLY GOLIGHTLY, MR. AIRPLANE MAN, THE INVISIBLE EYES
(Crocodile) See Border Radio, page 41.
CLINIC, SONS AND DAUGHTERS, AUTOLUX
(Showbox) Sons and Daughters may have elements of their native Scottish traditionalism in their attendant instrumentation, but their music touches on international influences. Imagine a band with one singer whose voice sounds as you wish White Stripes' drummer Meg White's did and another with the fuzzy fullness of Tindersticks frontman Stuart Staples--fused with a rich spaghetti-Western storyteller's tone--and you begin to understandwhat Sons and Daughters are all about. The four Glaswegians employ a pull-back, push-forward songwriting style that is subtle, gently layered, and beckoning--each song entices the listener to follow the trail deeper into brambles that eventually reveal a full-blown, fruit-laden resplendence. Adele Bethel can power a song with her alluring vocals or dive right into the kind of jangling guitar that usually takes half a song to build up to. She lays down a thick carpet for Scott Peterson (guitar/bass) to take the vocal lead over while she and the rest of the band--drummer David Gow and mandolin player/bassist Ailidh Lennon--whoop, holler, shake tambourines, and sonically paint a countryside that no American band ever could. KATHLEEN WILSON See also preview, page 41.
Q AND NOT U, EL GUAPO, KING COBRA
(Neumo's) Take them out! Billed rather consistently as the thinking-person's dance-punk band--or as R.E.M.'s Peter Buck once put it about his own group, "the acceptable edge of all the unacceptable stuff"--Q and Not U can't carry this entire genre on their backs with Power, their third full-length. But that's mostly because they don't want to: It's in the heightened falsettos and the pan-flute fantasy pop ("Throw Back Your Head") where you can hear their hesitancy and all but see them wash their hands of a typecast that they should have never been muddied by in the first place. What's left is one of the most confident albums you'll hear all year; "Wonderful People," "Wet Work," and a rerecorded version of last year's "Book of Flags" all louden up to the point of pure and perfect indulgence. Leave it to our nation's capital to screw up something this simple: Even after deciding the scene wasn't worth saving, Q and Not U managed to save it anyway. TREVOR KELLEY
OPERATION S, NEW FANGS, NEW LUCK TOY
(Comet Tavern) Most times when a French band comes to Seattle, it's floating on an air of atmospheric electronica. Not so with Operation S, a Parisian punk band more concerned with X-Ray Spex pop than Brian Wilson opulence. Fronted by the hiccupping Cecilia, Operation S gives synth punk European flavor, with multilingual lyrics and straight-ahead new-wave hooks. After hearing their eponymous disc for Broken Rekids, you kind of wish they'd pick up the tempo a bit, but overall they'd nestle in nicely between NW locals like the Cripples and the Epoxies. JENNIFER MAERZ
WEDNESDAY 10/27
LAMB OF GOD, FEAR FACTORY, CHILDREN OF BODOM, THROWDOWN
(Showbox) They've been around for a while, but only in the last couple of years has Richmond, Virginia band Lamb of God caught on and become one of the most popular metal bands in America. They co-headlined last year's MTV2 Headbanger's Ball, played the second stage at this year's Ozzfest (usually not a good sign), and just released their major-label debut, Ashes of the Wake (Epic), which sold 35,000 copies in its first week. And remarkably enough, they've done it without watering down their Swedish-inspired chugga-chugga metal assault or scathing political commentary. True, there are plenty of other bands mixing At the Gates and Meshuggah riffs with angry, socially-aware lyrics, but Lamb of God does it with more aplomb, and better taste, than just about any of the others, regardless of supposed indie-label cred. WILLIAM YORK
HAYDEN, ANDREW BIRD, ELK-LAKE SERENADERS, CUFF THE DUKE
(Tractor) Like a lot of people, I initially discovered Toronto-based songwriter Hayden in 1996 when he wrote the title track for Trees Lounge, the soundtrack to Steve Buscemi's bleak, touching, and unexpectedly hilarious little film about a small-town, alcoholic loser with a dyslexic sense of morals. It's no surprise that Hayden was chosen for that project, considering his gift as a lyricist is distilling humor from dire circumstances and painting characters that are simultaneously morally repugnant and wildly amusing. Although major-label turmoil caused him to drop off the radar toward the end of the '90s, he has gradually remerged with a series of self-released records, the most recent of which is Elk Lake Serenade, a sharp, black-humored collection that may be his strongest work yet. HANNAH LEVIN
TREVOR DUNN AND SHELLEY BURGON
(Wall of Sound) Bay Area bassist Trevor Dunn's made a decent living playing very strange music for Mr. Bungle, Fantomas, Secret Chiefs 3, and his own Trio-Convulsant (with drummer Ches Smith and guitarist Mary Halvorson). His new T-C album, Sister Phantom Owl Fish (Ipecac), is yet more brawny, brainy jazz rock that refuses to do the expected, ordinary thing. He's turned his love for jazz, skronk, metal, and classical music into bizarre hybrids of said genres. (T-C's covers Duke Ellington's "The Single Petal of a Rose" and Andre Previn's "I'm Sick" would probably please and baffle their creators.) Dunn's joined tonight by harpist Shelley Burgon and Atomic Chamber Ensemble. DAVE SEGAL
