THURSDAY 3/24


LOW, PEDRO THE LION
(Neumo's) See preview, page 33 and Stranger Suggests, page 23.

LE TON MITE, EMMA ZUNZ
(Gallery 1412) Seattle duo Emma Zunz make eerie music that sounds like it came creeping out of the back parlor of a dusty saloon located in the deepest recesses of your subconscious: discordant, intertwined vocal harmonies, accordion, and bowed guitar. Strung-out sirens stranded on a desolate traffic island, they lure listeners to their doom with bleak songs about murder ("Resting Place") and life's other little everyday tragedies. Like their patrons in the Dead Science (bassist Jherek Bischoff produced their five-song demo, and frontman Sam Mickens has booked them several times at his Galley 1412 showcases), these ladies appreciate that you can't spell "smart" without A-R-T. KURT B. REIGHLEY

SILENT LAMBS PROJECT, DRED.I, TWIN G
(Rainbow) Silent Lambs' Jace and Blak famously spit jagged shards of broken glass into the mic--cutting right to the quick while offering brief glimpses of reflection, or perhaps an appropriately cracked lens through which to view the world in this age of decay. Their emotive, complex hiphop is here joined by the bubbling live show of dRED.i, whose new Revolutionary Crunk Muzik is a fiery, uptempo document of rebellion, and Twin G, who you might know as one-fourth of Lac of Respect--whose '04 LP Game Members was the best gangsta-rap album to drop from Seatown. Three facets of the game, all submitted for your approval--but without giving a fuck if you approve or not. LARRY MIZELL JR.

CAROLYN MARK & HER STALLIONS, LUTHER WRIGHT, BRENT AMACHER & THE RODEO
(Sunset) The booze chanteuse from the Great North (well, not that north--Vancouver, BC) makes her triumphant return to the loving arms of Seattle. Her latest album may just be her best yet. The Pros and Cons of Collaboration has her trademark humor, such as "2 Days Smug and Sober" (a title worthy of Skeeter Davis), but it also has some of her finest and most perfectly sung ballads committed to record. Seeing her live is always a treat because Mark is a natural storyteller and wisecracker, talents that are often in short supply on country stages (where's the pageantry, people?). If she's wearing her satiny Mary Janes, ask her where she got her "show shoes." NATE LIPPENS

SCHLAZE CUBED, FACTUMS
(Rendezvous) Schlaze Cubed are engaged in the important business of reimagining late-'70s/early-'80s post-punk for the new millennium. But rather than elaborating on overplayed groups like Gang of Four and PiL, the Everett trio tinker with the molecular structure of underground mavericks like This Heat, Chrome, and Heldon. Schlaze's deconstructions result in some krautrageous wrecked angles. Factums strip rock down to a grayscale monotone, but instill a menacing throb to their early Fall (the Manchester band, not the season) mannerisms--exhilarating repetition, incisive lo-fi squalls, agitated vocals, spirited use of effects pedals, etc. These bands are creating some of the most intriguing rumblings in the region's underground-rock scene. DAVE SEGAL

FRIDAY 3/25


LOW, PEDRO THE LION
(Neumo's) See preview, page 33 and Stranger Suggests, page 23.

THE CHARMING SNAKES, HEAD, STABMASTER ARSON, THE SNACKS
(Fun House) See preview, page 37.

COMEBACK'S ONE-YEAR ANNIVERSARY
(Chop Suey) See Stranger Suggests, page 23 and Data Breaker, page 53.

THE KILLS, THE SIGHTS, MAN MAN
(Crocodile) Philadelphia/New York kooks Man Man teeter precariously on the tightrope between annoyingly goofy and ridiculously sublime. You know that tightrope: It's the one Primus, Frank Zappa, Mr. Bungle, Butthole Surfers, Ween, Need New Body, Gogol Bordello, and many others have traversed with varying degrees of success. Man Man's recent disc, The Man in the Blue Turban with a Face (Ace Fu), sounds like a circus band attempting to play some vaguely Eastern European folk music after total immersion in Tom Waits' back catalog. You know, the kind of stuff you can hear in any bar in America any day of the week. And that tightrope? Man Man use it as a string instrument. DAVE SEGAL See also CD Reviews, page 39.

PORN, THE ABODOX, GIRTH, BLACK HORSE
(El Corazòn) Porn. Now that I have your attention, kindly cock an ear toward these nasty mofos' crude, rude music, which some professor types classify as metallicus stonerundum. Now a tight trio consisting of guitarist Tim Moss, bassist Billy Anderson (renowned producer of Sleep, Fantomas, Neurosis, and many others), and drummer Dale Crover (Melvins, Nirvana), the men of Porn are cruising through America in support of Wine, Women and Song… (Small Stone). Porn's new album sounds as if somebody spiked their hash with opium and speed. They've found the perfect rock-hard place between Black Sabbath and Motörhead. Catch Porn in the flesh and your brain will be copiously stained. DAVE SEGAL

BEYOND REALITY, CANCER RISING, DAMIAN BLACK, JOHN TSUNAM, DV1
(Vera Project) John Tsunam is playing so many shows lately, I wonder if his tongue gets tired. The way he spits words makes me dizzy, and I want to record it and then slow it down so I can figure out what he's saying. The parts I do happen to catch make me either laugh or think harder than I usually find myself doing at shows. Beyond Reality is Seattle's premier female wordsmith, and she's sat on that throne for many years. Anyone who dares to usurp her will have to deal with a barrage of slickly worded righteous rhymes. ARI SPOOL

MONO, ELUVIUM, EUPHONDISSON
(Sunset) Japan's Mono indulge in stoically emotional instrumental rock that could seamlessly segue into sets by Mogwai and Explosions in the Sky. This is cause for either ecstatic anticipation or yawns, depending on your stance regarding rock with lull-and-explode dynamics. All of these modestly bombastic bands sporadically rivet with their Niagara Falls guitar downpours, but too often they meander with excessive trepidation to sustain interest. Let's hope Mono have sorted out their exciting-to-dull ratio for tonight's gig. See also CD Reviews, page 39. DAVE SEGAL

SATURDAY 3/26


BLOC PARTY, ERASE ERRATA, MOMMY & DADDY
(Neumo's) See CD Reviews, page 39.

DEMOLITION DOLL RODS, SPACE CRETINS, JIMMY FLAME AND THE SEXXXY BOYS
(Fun House) Seeing the Demolition Dolls Rods now is like stumbling upon a '70s Saturday Night Live while channel surfing. They're a reminder of a time when two guitars and a tempo-challenged drummer playing dismantled garage rock was a fresh idea. Like how the race and drug jokes on '70s SNL that you can't believe were so controversial, but then spook you when you realize those jokes wouldn't make it past the censors today? Well, the for-real, bare-boobs, gutter-glory of the Doll Rods' show probably kept them off a major label through the whole garage revival. That, and the fact their records aren't exactly replete with keeper tunes. And like the current SNL, the Doll Rods have worn out their welcome, but still occasionally satisfy. Live from Detroit, it's the Demolition Doll Rods! ERIC DAVIDSON

SUNDAY 3/27


RACETRACK, USS HORSEWHIP, LEUKO, SPEAKER SPEAKER
(Punkin House) See Underage, page 33.

WAR ROOM GRAND OPENING
(War Room) See Stranger Suggests, page 23.

BRIGGAN KRAUSS, WAYNE HORVITZ, DYLAN VAN DER SCHYFF
(Gallery 1412) Ex-Seattle/current-NYC saxophonist Briggan Krauss has earned a stellar rep for his three avant-jazz albums for Knitting Factory Records, as well as for crucial sideman work for Medeski, Martin & Wood, Bill Frisell, and Wayne Horvitz's Pigpen. Krauss' technique combines searing free-jazz lungpower, swift bop-like filigreeing, and the distressed cries of exotic beasts. Seattle mainstay Horvitz is a remarkably tuneful, textural, and rhythmic keyboardist who thrives in many musical situations. Vancouver drummer Dylan Van Der Schyff ranks as one of improv's most deft, sensitive sticksmen. DAVE SEGAL

MONDAY 3/28
Who said I lied?

TUESDAY 3/29


ASOBI SEKSU, HYPATIA LAKE, PARKER & LILY
(Chop Suey) Seattle quartet Hypatia Lake create rock that attempts to strafe the heavens like Neil Young in his most star-gazingly optimistic mood or Mercury Rev before they blanded out into mushy-hearted Americana balladeers. Hypatia Lake are approaching a bracing synthesis of affecting lyrical sincerity, majestic songcraft, and enchanting textures. Godspeed to them. Like nearly every group fronted by a Japanese female singer, Asobi Seksu are cursed, to a degree, with cuteness. Their self-titled debut on Friendly Fire Records amalgamates the tambourine shakes and polite Tupperware drumming of many a twee indie-rock band and the sweet-and-fuzzy guitar torrents of many an early-'90s shoe-gazer troupe. But Asobi Seksu seem more interested in inducing insulin rushes--toot sweet--than blissing you out. DAVE SEGAL

ESHAM, ANYBODY KILLA, BLAZE YA DEAD HOMIE, JUMPSTEADY
(El Corazòn) Unfortunately known to most as the guy who caught a hellafied beatdown from D12 (ouch) at Warped Tour a few years ago (even though Eminem once himself claimed to be a cross of "Manson, Esham, and Ozzy"), Detroit's Esham is a prolific, and decidedly underground, purveyor of a hardcore, drugged-out, heavy metal-inspired form of hiphop he calls "acid rap." He and his Psychopathic Records label mates will likely be bringing their bizarre ripgut pro-wrestler rap vision to our sunny shores, most likely to a whole heap of face-painted devotees. But if you ask me, as the man who is frequently cited as Insane Clown Posse's main influence, Esham has a lotta fuckin' explaining to do. LARRY MIZELL JR.

PINETOP PERKINS
(Jazz Alley) Mount Rushmore. The Grand Canyon. The winding Mississippi River. Ho-hum. National landmarks are so boring. But pianist Pinetop Perkins? There's an American treasure worth making a trip for. Sure, his signature song, "Pinetop's Boogie Woogie," was written by another blues pioneer (Clarence "Pinetop" Smith, for you Trivial Pursuit buffs), but everything else about Mississippi native Perkins is uniquely his own. A contemporary of blues legends Muddy Waters, Sonny Boy Williamson, and Earl Hooker, this demon on the ivories waited until the late '80s to begin recording, but he's since caught up with a string of excellent releases; his two-night stand at Jazz Alley this week, joined by the four-piece Paul deLay Band, is in support of his latest, Ladies Man. Not to be morbid, but the great man has been paying his rent playing this music since 1926, so catch him while you still can. KURT B. REIGHLEY

WEDNESDAY 3/30


BEN LEE, HAR MAR SUPERSTAR, ZYKOS
(Crocodile) Ben Lee is, in a word, dreamy. And not just because of the big puppy dog eyes, goofy grin, and Australian accent. His earnest solo material is often so simple and unpretentious that after listening to his collection of songs, you feel like he's your new best friend. Warmly sung lyrics meet with gentle drumming, poppy accents, and the occasional tinkering piano, and while it sounds like your basic pop singer solo material, Lee's music is often delivered with a rare genuine warmth. And I'm not just saying that because I wanna make out with him. MEGAN SELING

MON FRERE, THE REPUTATION, LOVE HOTEL, THE PUNKS
(Catwalk) Elizabeth Elmore, the singer/guitarist of Chicago indie-rockers the Reputation, aptly named her band. Her reputation as a blunt and forthright lyricist who tackles sex, love, and the overlap between the two with the mercilessness of an autopsy was cemented with the Reputation's stellar sophomore album, To Force a Fate. Another singer with a knack for tough-minded explorations of romance delivered in a sexy purr is Sarah Paul Ocampo, of Typing Explosion and Muy Triste fame. She has found the perfect vehicle for her slinky, cool persona in Love Hotel, a knockout combo that plays muscular yet smart pop and fiery rock. NATE LIPPENS

RAKING BOMBS, PARTS & LABOR, CATBEES, UMBER SLEEPING
(Fun House) Brooklyn trio Parts & Labor remind me of the halcyon days when Polvo, Savage Republic, Sonic Youth, and Chavez were turning guitars into generators of exotic clangor and bright-orange galvanic sparks. P&L forge noise rock as we know it, but they somehow find tunings and tonalities we haven't heard before. And, as they prove on "Jurassic Technology" off their split CD with Tyondai Braxton, Rise, Rise, Rise, P&L can rock a bagpipe like nobody since Rufus Harley. Dan Friel's synapse-tingling, pedal-mad fluctuations prove him to be a truly special guitarist. DAVE SEGAL