PLACEBO, IDLEWILD
(Crocodile) Idlewild is from Scotland, which is exciting because Scottish bands like Arab Strap, Appendix Out, Teenage Fanclub, and even the primarily instrumental Mogwai have made such great contributions to rock and roll over the past decade (usually in thick, gorgeous, native accents) that Scotland's Idlewild is a big fat disappointment. The nasal way that vocalist Roddy Woomble sings is so American-sounding, so R.E.M.-sounding to be precise, that the most recent record, 100 Broken Windows, plays far more like an identity crisis than the great piece of rock and roll that Westerners have been so inflatedly praising for the past five months or so. What if Michael Stipe fronted a toned-down, far less anguished-sounding Nirvana? It would be fun and interesting, sure, but it would be neither Nirvana, nor R.E.M. It would be Idlewild, a decent, relatively new group that needs time to develop a sound and style of its own before it gets hyped to the frustrating extent that tends to suck the potential right out of a band. JEFF DeROCHE

PRINCE PAUL, SOFCON, SHYAN SELAH
(I-Spy) As recommendation for Prince Paul, I could simply make a list of rappers that the DJ/producer has worked with, so I won't tire you with associations. Just believe he lives up to his regal name. Last year when he played I-Spy, he started his set with songs he produced about 15 years ago and slowly made his way to his contemporary cuts. All the while he calmly stood behind his wheels of steel, just putting on record after record to reveal his life chronologically. It was like sitting next to him as he flipped through the photo album of his career, only it was a sonic rendering of time and place, not visual. And while you can't guarantee all of the family portraits will move you, everything Prince Paul plays will. BRIAN GOEDDE

FRANK BLACK & THE CATHOLICS, DAVID LOVERING
(Showbox) As a firm supporter of Frank Black's post-Pixies creative endeavors, it pains me to report that his latest release with the Catholics is an utter piece of shit. Or maybe it's not; maybe it's one of those kinds of albums that gets better after you've listened to it several times. And I once read a study that said prisoners frequently crave prison food after they are released, so go figure. KATHLEEN WILSON

THOMAS MAPFUMO & THE BLACKS UNLIMITED
(Rainbow) See Stranger Suggests.

BACHIR ATTAR, SKERIK, MATT CHAMBERLIN, MIKE DILLON, DJ DAREK MAZZONE
(Sit & Spin) See preview this issue.

MUDHONEY, RIGHT ON!, OLD MAN SMITHERS
(Crocodile) Looking for a kick in the ass? Here's your show. Mudhoney's winter appearance at Graceland, a reunion of sorts--for the band's members as well as the audience--transported the grizzled fans back to the vitality of years gone by. The Grunge Years, to be exact. The old felt young and the young felt let in on what it must have been like "back in the day." It's hard to imagine all that urgency and nostalgia packed into the Crocodile, given the size of Mudhoney's popularity these days, but sardine-style or not, it's a show that's not to be missed. KATHLEEN WILSON

APES OF WRATH, SWARMING HORDES, BLÖÖDHAG
(I-Spy) Three possibilities come to mind upon listening to the new Apes of Wrath CD: (1) You accidentally put on a Boredoms disc and it's skipping relentlessly. (2) Someone has replaced your speaker cones with soggy paper plates. (3) You somehow became stumbling drunk in the middle of the day. Apes of Wrath create abusive cut-and-pasted sound collages that leave you feeling totally worked over. And to top it off, they reference Gordon Lightfoot. I have no idea how this works in a live setting, but with the powerful I-Spy sound system backing them up, they will most likely blow your ass out. DAN PAULUS

BACHIR ATTAR, DJ CHEB I SABBAH
(Baltic Room) See preview this issue.

TOM PETTY & THE HEARTBREAKERS, THE WALLFLOWERS
(Gorge Amphitheatre) "American Girl," "Even the Losers," "Free Fallin'": All great songs, but let's take a moment to celebrate the quiet brilliance that is Tom Petty's song "Louisiana Rain." Tacked on to the end of Tom Petty & the Heartbreakers' breakthrough third album, "Louisiana Rain" is a breakup song full of regret and cleansing rain "falling just like tears," which showcases Petty's origins as a boy from Gainesville, Florida, rather than his ever-depicted, adopted muse of Southern California. If you haven't listened to it lately, you should. KATHLEEN WILSON

PETER CASE
(Tractor Tavern) If musical tales of drifters, wanderers, and vagabonds bring to mind unpleasant images of Kerouac's Beatitude or Boxcar Willie, you would be well advised to check out Peter Case. Leaving home as a teenager to busk on the streets and travel, Case was discovered in 1976 by songwriter Jack Lee and came to critical attention with power-pop bands the Nerves and the Plimsouls. In the '80s, after disbanding the Plimsouls, Case set himself back on course with his semiautobiographical narratives of journeyers and disappointed romantics, drawing on the American folk and blues of Leadbelly, Mississippi John Hurt, and Woody Guthrie, while infusing them with a modern ache and knowingness. On last year's Flying Saucer Blues, Case showed his understated genius at troubadour story-songs with accomplished roots-rock and folk underpinnings. On stage, Case lives up to the title of his 1994 album, Sings Like Hell. NATE LIPPENS

THE WEAKERTHANS, DASHBOARD CONFESSIONAL, ROCKY VOTOLATO
(Graceland) Much is made of the supposed "meaningfulness" of song lyrics, though meaning itself is such a nonliteral component of the rock and roll song. Because if the words don't actually make sense, it don't ultimately matter. All this is why it's so startlingly impressive to stumble across a band like Winnipeg's the Weakerthans, whose music--as the name suggests--is a humble, pleasing, altogether excellent strain of indie heartache pop, spread over two fine records (Fallow and Left and Leaving) and an EP (Watermark). What makes the band so special, though, are the words. Yes, the words. John Samson writes with poetic attunement to physicalizing detail ("I trace your outline in spilled sugar..."), an acute ability to articulate the curse of overconsciousness when it comes to matters of the heart ("I've got this store-bought way of saying I'm okay, and you learned how to cry in total silence"), and a strong knack for great couplets ("We're talented and bright. We're lonely and uptight..."). A far cry from Samson's old band, the politically didactic (though hilariously named) Propagandhi, the Weakerthans, like the finest writing, are all about showing, not telling. Some would call this music too smart for its own good, but those people are stupid. SEAN NELSON

THE MELVINS, HANK WILLIAMS III
(Showbox) The scrawny frame, the haunted visage, the list of addictions--with or without the hokey name, it's terrifyingly apparent where this punk rock cowboy got his genes. But it remains to be seen whether he can really "Put the Dick Back in Dixie and the Cunt Back in Country," as he so boldly claims. Sure, he wears that Misfits T-shirt, and his boots are held together with duct tape, but his sound lacks the urgency and conviction that makes the country and punk cross-pollination so wildly successful. Go to see the Melvins melt the wallpaper, or go to gawk at his grandpappy's ghost-given flesh. Just don't expect much more than that. TAMARA PARIS

THOMAS MAPFUMO & THE BLACKS UNLIMITED
(Rainbow) See Stranger Suggests.

CAPTURED BY ROBOTS, PLEASEEASAUR, PLASTIQ PHANTOM
(Crocodile) Captured by Robots is a San Francisco performance artist who plays futuristic metal with a band of robots he created, varying in name and function--one plays the drums, one guitar, and one makes various odd noises--to support his crazy costumed ass in performance. He plays like he's actually been caught and mutilated by robots, his intestines attached to a keyboard while he's wrapped in chains, carrying on conversations with said robots. Plastiq Phantom is a mad techno geek who composes wildly entertaining pieces of music that have gained him comparison to Autechre, D'atachi, and Aphex Twin. For this show, he's playing under the alias Johnny Kawasaki and the DJs on Strike, remixing R&B and pop from artists like Destiny's Child and 'N Sync. And then, of course, we all know Pleaseeasaur. The Stranger's own Brad Steinbacher once lovingly called him a "retard" in print, which he may or may not be, but in his own way he's a genius. Pleaseeasaur is another costume-wearing freak who plays music of assorted styles and changes costumes a lot. Who does this retard think he is? Prince? JEFF DeROCHE

MARK KNOPFLER
(Benaroya Hall) The dude from Dire Straits is charging $49.50 for low-end seats. Nice one. JEFF DeROCHE

COUCH, DUB NARCOTIC SOUND SYSTEM
(Breakroom) See preview this issue.

BEVIS FROND, eXBeSTFRIeNDS, THEBROTHEREGG
(Sit & Spin) Sure, its back catalog is overflowing with song titles like "Visions Through Dilated Eyes" and "Into the Cryptic Mist," and most critics can't even exhale in the band's direction without uttering the words "neo-psychedelic" (see?), but don't write the Frond off as meandering hippie-jam shit. Every respectable musical gearhead in town will be at this show, and not just to marvel at the Frond's impressive outlay of effects pedals. Frond frontman Nick Saloman's expansive mindfucks have substance and wit, his technical skill (both as a player and a producer) is invariably impressive, and all those long solos and loops are actually, purposefully, going somewhere. EXBeSTFRIeNDS, who have finally begun committing some of their songs to tape for a soon-to-be-released 7-inch, should provide an appropriate contrast to Saloman's sprawling yarns. HANNAH LEVIN

STARLIGHT MINTS
(Crocodile) These days, Nothing New is the new New. And while Starlight Mints is doing nothing that is new, fusing influences such as the Beatles, David Bowie, and the Pixies, the Oklahoma band has created a pop that--while highly derivative--still makes for a fresh and buoyant, even invigorating, listening experience. KATHLEEN WILSON

BADLY DRAWN BOY
(Showbox) Damon Gough, the man behind Badly Drawn Boy, put out in the year 2000 his debut LP, The Hour of Bewilderbeast, to inordinate praise and accolades. These were deserving. It's a great, baroque collection of pop songs that opens with a French horn and carries the listener through what feels like the journey of a new indie rock genius. Press made a big deal about Gough being a bedroom four-tracker (which is novel, really...), and everyone seemed really excited about Badly Drawn Boy's lavish-and-then-refined songwriting method. Then Gough came to Seattle, to play live at the Crocodile, and no one who saw the show said anything positive, or even seemed to like him anymore. Reason? He's a jammy, meandering dickhead on stage, far more suited to the four-track than the stage and the praise, to which he's obviously paid too much attention. Damn, I wish I were that cool. JEFF DeROCHE

DUNCAN SHEIK, AMY CORREIA
(Crocodile) New York singer/songwriter Duncan Sheik delivered a murmuring surprise gift with his latest album, Phantom Moon. With its title nod to melancholic English folk legend Nick Drake's Pink Moon, the album parts with Sheik's two lackluster previous albums for a seductive collection of introspective ruminations. The lyrics were penned by acclaimed New York playwright Steven Sater, and while they can verge on the precious, Sheik's silvery baritone finds the grounded warmth between the lines. The bare solo piano and guitar music are augmented by lavish strings and woodwinds that recall Drake's Bryter Layter on some songs. Sheik's chamber-folk seems certain to play with immediacy in an intimate live setting. NATE LIPPENS

ENSIGN, EMBRACE TODAY, LEFT WITH NOTHING
(Paradox) Ensign is a welter of feedback and guttural vocals, ultra-violent hardcore played with passion and even a certain political angst, New Jersey style. The band's new CD, The Price of Progression, switches between rapid snatches of rage and sampled feedback, and has the decency to borrow one of the finest drum breaks of all time--from the Clash's "Tommy Gun." This will be a lean, mean, sweat-sodden dance-brawl of a night out. EVERETT TRUE

AUTECHRE
(Showbox) Simon Fowler of arch Brit revivalist band Ocean Colour Scene complains loudly at the charge that his group is considered retro. "What about all these fucking house bands?" he asks. "They all sound identical to Kraftwerk, 20 years on." Hmmm. Leaving Trans Am's previous album out of this, he's clearly heard the "serene, glistening waterfalls of sound and thick peels of aural experimentation" (© CMJ) of Rochdale, England's electronic dance duo Autechre. He'd be wrong to dismiss the group's cool minimalism out of hand, though: On stage Autechre's surprisingly human blips and bloops and extended industrial downcore make for an intriguing, enlivening evening. EVERETT TRUE