INTERNATIONAL NOISE CONSPIRACY, BLUE TIP, WORLD INFERNO FRIENDSHIP SOCIETY
(Graceland) Now, I love a nice suit as much as the next gal, and I certainly love anyone, male or female, who reads books in order to expand the mind. But rock bands with political, intellectual, and fashion agendas bug the living shit out of me. The International Noise Conspiracy wear suit-like uniforms because they believe no one in their band should be singled out. They are all equals. They hate capitalism. And they like to think of themselves as a "symbiosis of the Who and Guy Debord..." and (it gets worse) "...the Jam and Noam Chomsky." ENOUGH WITH ALL THAT. In plain terms (and in spite of their Euro pretentiousness), the International Noise Conspiracy are a perfectly enjoyable mod band featuring former members of Refused, Separation, Doughnuts, and Saidwas. KATHLEEN WILSON

REX HOBART & THE MISERY BOYS, DEANNA VARAGONA
(Tractor Tavern) When I ran into my old friend Scott Hobart in New York two weeks ago and found out his band, Rex Hobart & the Misery Boys (named after Scott's father), were coming to my town, I immediately ran into the music office and begged to write about this show. Scott is a genius of traditional country guitar and voice, taught by his father who lived and died a country boy in rural Kansas. A wonderful sadness bleeds from his music; he speaks for the broken heart inside us all, with aching lyrics about life's beautiful tragedies and that same innocent honesty that made Hank Williams a legend. I won't listen to any country records this year save Rex Hobart records; I doubt I'll see any country shows this year except this one. MARK DUSTON

SAMIAM, DIVIT, POLECAT
(Breakroom) Samiam is the sonic doppelgänger of the father from A Christmas Story: a bruising, old-fashioned shriek machine whose tapestry of throaty rants hovers over any venue they play. Their newest LP, Astray, pulls off a strange balance between poppy, lovelorn laments ("Why Do We" would fit in nicely on the Magnolia soundtrack, at least for a few minutes) and sweet-shit SoCal smackdowns. But it all rocks out live. Lead spark plug Jason Beebout will bellow his operatic tales of broken homes and broken relationships to a small but grateful Breakroom crowd. Their albums and tours often slip through the cracks, but Samiam have an authentic rock arsenal that'll snap your horn-rims in half, you Furby-loving putz. ANDREW BONAZELLI

BEBEL GILBERTO & THIEVERY CORPORATION
(Showbox) Bebel's Tanto Tempo, an album of unmitigated Brazilian bliss, would surely make her daddy (bossa nova legend João Gilberto) proud. Though a slew of dance music producers and DJs (D.C. downtempo duo Thievery Corporation, drum and bass prince Amon Tobin, Beastie Boys producer Mario Caldato Jr., and the late, great Suba) looks on paper like a too-many-cooks type of mess, the results are surprisingly clean. Organic and electronic elements meld seamlessly with Gilberto's lush, understated vocals, and it all feels like a soft, sexy little Rio de Janeiro breeze in Northwest November. Don't miss this show, but don't come alone either--this is the stuff first-date scores are made of. LEAH GREENBLATT

MARC OLSEN, NICK POISON & FRIENDS
(Sunset Tavern) It's not often that you can truly get away with using the word "unique," but anyone who's ever heard or seen Marc Olsen would have to agree that the term is well deserved when applied to this local singer/songwriter/guitarist. Whether it's his vocals, his guitar-playing, or his songwriting itself, there's no mistaking the voice behind the music. Not quite twangy enough to be alt-country, or off-kilter enough to be prog, or straightforward enough to be pop, rock, or folk, Olsen exists in his own beautifully strange world. And that's a good thing. BARBARA MITCHELL

THE TREMENS, THE DIRTYBIRDS
(Sit & Spin) I first saw local trio the Tremens a few years back at the Crocodile Cafe, and was immediately taken by their hyped-up fusion of SST-era precision punk (à la the Minutemen) with a manic attention to tempo-twisting that echoes, at times, the nervy structuralist funk of Fugazi. The Tremens concoct a type of sly honky spaz rock conducive to bouncing, hopping, and rapid head jerks, which is not to imply that they're short on redemptive groove. At their finest, they lack for little, stylistically speaking: In the space of a single song, they might flow from three-bar hardcore to wah-wah funk to irresistible neo-psychedelic indulgence cut with abstract/impressionist lyrics that themselves serve as syncopation. Idiosyncratic, intelligent, frenetic, and humorous music. RICK LEVIN

ELF POWER, THE MINDERS, THE PLACES
(Crocodile) For those who regret not having lived through the '60s, here's your chance. Not in a patchouli-and-LSD, hippie-dippy sort of way, but in a heady, pop-with-a-twist vein. Elf Power have just released a fine new album called Winter Is Coming, which hearkens back to a time when bands were just starting to push the pop envelope. There's an underlying innocence and wide-eyed sense of possibility--in other words, exactly what you'd hope for from a band that's part of the Elephant 6 collective. BARBARA MITCHELL

THE VIOLATED BALL w/HELL'S BELLES, GUN ST. GIRLS BURLESQUE SHOW
(I-Spy) I went to see Hell's Belles, the all-girl AC/DC cover band, for the first time two weeks ago, and I can't remember the last time I had so much fun at a rock show. The Bon Scott-to-Brian Johnson ratio was on the favorable side, the lesbian community was up front, singing along and head-banging, and I ended up dry-humping a mysterious stranger on the barricade while the ladies pumped out "She's Got the Jack." Needless to say, I will be rocking at the I-Spy. DAN PAULUS

SOURCE OF LABOR, LIVE HUMAN, CANDID, DJ QUEST
(Sit & Spin) Source of Labor are living up to their name by working and working to lay the foundation for homegrown hiphop. If they're not opening for the big acts that come through town, then they're in the audience. They've created the Jasiri Media Group as a sort of headquarters, and host the only regular hiphop event in town, the all-ages Sundays at the Sit & Spin. As for the music? Well, it's okay. They've been at the forefront of Seattle rap for almost 10 years and just put out their debut album this summer, which indicates that they're more interested in community-building than making music. But whatever their focus, this home-court show will bring 'em all out. Also performing is Matador recording artists Live Human, a live experimental hiphop project featuring, among other things, a standup bass. BRIAN GOEDDE

J. MASCIS & THE FOG, CAUSTIC RESIN, BEACHWOOD SPARKS
(Crocodile) The new record, More Light, finds Mascis in a more satisfyingly old-school Dinosaur Jr. way (big '70s rock) than fans have been hearing from him of late, and the show should be satisfying to say the least. The Crocodile will be filled with his unmistakable drawl, his perfect, inspired guitar lines, and the downright beautiful rock and roll sound from which Mascis is inseparable. JEFF DeROCHE

KARATE
(Paradox) When I was little and got scared walking through dark woods at night, I used to yell that I knew karate (the martial art) to scare away any evil-doers. But knowing of Karate (the band) will probably help you if you need to kick ass. They're from Boston. They play stuttery, melodic music that is disaffected like punk rock, but more thinking and mellow. I don't think they're fighters. Juno's on the bill, too, who've recently released a split with the Dismemberment Plan. Singer Arlie Carstens sings "So kill it fast/Get past the past/Past the point of no return." Now that's smart. LISA GUNTER

DAVE ALVIN & FRIENDS, RICK SHEA
(Tractor Tavern) As a cultivator of American roots rock and a member of the seminal Los Angeles band the Blasters, Dave Alvin has always used America's historical and collective emotional signposts for a journey of self-exploration. His solo work has an austerity and raw beauty that jettisons the rock, but leaves the roots exposed and gnarled. With his latest album, Public Domain: Songs from the Wild Land, on Hightone Records, Alvin has found the perfect set of songs to honey his drawl with: American folk and blues, from "Shenandoah" to the spiritualist Kid Prince Moore's "Sign of Judgement." These songs conflate the public and private domains: the way we live (geography, history, and mortality) and the way we dream of living (religion, philosophy, and immortality). Live, Alvin is a firecracker of a performer--an old pro sharing his finely shaded work. NATE LIPPENS

DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE, PEDRO THE LION
(Crocodile) On first listen, they sound like a basic pop band: droney guitars and simplistic rhythms. But, upon seeing them live for the first time, suddenly a different band opens up before you like a bright Sunday in autumn. The dark, smoky club slips away and there are leaves beneath your feet. Their particular combination of guitars, drums, and bass is crisp and clear, the way a pop band should sound. Death Cab aren't trying to fit into a pre-defined emo or radio rock sound. Instead, they are playing so you can hear their music, hoping that you connect to it the way they do. And you do. CHARLES REDELL

BANCO DE GAIA
(Nation) Banco de Gaia (otherwise known as Toby Marks) makes the white-people-with-dreadlocks crowd twirl with delight, but don't hate him just yet. His five albums' worth of globetrotter breaks do indeed follow the essentially oiled path of the hippie-raver backpacker--sonic tours of South America, the Far East, and the Middle East--but he manages to blend them quite expertly with smart, spiritual beats and other aural tingles. His latest outing, purportedly recorded partly in the Great Pyramids of Giza, leans more toward triphop excursions and vaguely Egyptian elements. But for the faithful, he will surely re-create his usual Goa-rific, full-moon-party vibe tonight. LEAH GREENBLATT

ANTHONY MALVESTUTO, MILE 40, TRACHTENBURG FAMILY SLIDESHOW PLAYERS, WEST OF HERE
(Wit's End) Jason Trachtenburg started his musical career back in 1975 when he ditched his piano teacher at the ripe old age of five. Honing his anti-folk/performance art sensibilities somewhere between New York and Austin before landing here in 1993, Jason's current gig, the Trachtenburg Family Players, takes the boring vacation slideshow of American suburban lore and turns it on its head. Using slides acquired at an estate sale as inspiration, Trachtenburg tinkles away on a keyboard as he sings quirky tales about fictitious family trips. Throw in the random misfires that inevitably accompany any slide show experience, add the variability of seven-year-old Rachel Trachtenburg's percussive accompaniment, and the resulting show is as comical and charming as it is unique. NATE LEVIN

THE VOGUE, SEAN NA NA, SLAVES
(Breakroom) As the saying goes, it's time to put your money where your mouth is. Local indie superheroes the Vogue finally celebrate the release of their much-anticipated full-length. Few other bands have generated this kind of advance hype: One minute their tapes are being passed around surreptitiously, and the next thing you know, the band's gracing the cover of local papers--all without appearing to have moved a muscle. But that's the beauty of the Vogue. They're young, they're sexy, and they rock, in a cute, sort of spastic kind of way. Opening the show are Sean Na Na (featuring Sean Tillman of Calvin Krime) who also have folks talking. Guess this is the show to go to if you wanna get buzzed. BARBARA MITCHELL

SHANE MacGOWAN & THE POPES, THE REAL McKENZIES
(Showbox) If the mere thought of Shane MacGowan doesn't make you want to drink, or give you an instant, vicious, vicarious buzz, then you're obviously unfamiliar with the man's work. Long before Bob Pollard turned the art of onstage drinking and drunkenness into a performance unto itself, MacGowan was swigging and staggering his way into the hearts of discerning music fans as the leader of Ireland's legendary band the Pogues. Throughout his career, MacGowan has offered living proof that the words "Irish" and "drinking music" go together like peanut butter and chocolate, all the while delivering some of the most enduringly heartwrenching, frighteningly beautiful music imaginable. BARBARA MITCHELL

LIMP BIZKIT, EMINEM, PAPA ROACH, XZIBIT
(Tacoma Dome) This concert promoter must have been a music critic at one time. It's billed as "The Anger Management Tour," which is most peculiar. True, it could be just a joke, but it could also be that the performers on this bill are all enrolled in the same art therapy program. I imagine something like the Betty Ford Center for rappers, where the latest experiment is putting them all in front of an audience of strangers to expose and learn to "manage" their anger. As far as I can tell, Papa Roach, Xzibit, and even Limp Bizkit are doing well in the program; they seem to express their anger effectively and thus manage it well. But our dear Eminem, oh, what will we do? From what I have seen, we have one of the most bizarre and interesting rappers to grace the world in quite some time, but it doesn't look like he's managing his anger very well. He will pull in the dough, however, so maybe this is a fundraiser. BRIAN GOEDDE

GAZA STRIPPERS, THE CATHETERS, RC5
(Sit & Spin) The next installment in the series When Good Band Names Actually Happen to Good Bands. The Gaza Strippers feature former Didjit Rick Sims (who also served a short stint playing guitar with the Supersuckers), and anyone who was a fan of the Didjits knows that this should be one heck of a good time. The Strippers have a new album, 1000 Watt Confessions, just out on Lookout!, so if you're looking to put a little fun (and a lot of good old-fashioned punk rock) back into your diet, this'd be the show. BARBARA MITCHELL

MELT BANANA, VAZ, BIOGRAPHY OF FERNS
(Crocodile) Simply put, Melt Banana is the best female-fronted Japanese noise metal band in the world, period. Miss this show and you're a big, fucking, diaper-wearing loser. KATHLEEN WILSON

SUNSHINE, BILLY SHOOK
(Graceland) The Czech Republic's Sunshine makes dark, aggressive art-punk ("Go on! Go on! Kiss my lips!") that is the sexiest thing I've heard all year. Think Joy Division, all revved up and rougher. Think the Cure or Echo and the Bunnymen if they were making fuck-me punk rock in the year 2000. Imagine the high-end, guitar-saw action, and plenty of sexy, feminine testosterone. Now go to this show or you're a big, fucking, diaper-wearing loser. JEFF DeROCHE