Music

Up & Coming

STUDFINDER, THE LASHES, BETTY FORD FALCONS
(Gibson's) The Lashes are nothing if not attention-craving. For a nanosecond their bratty attempts to be noticed could be witnessed on the walls of bars frequented by music types, until the cheap stickers were either scraped off, painted over, or vandalized with new, less tongue-in-cheek, mocking phrases. Has the band accomplished what it set out to do with its carpet-bomb attempt at publicity? What the band lacks in skill it makes up for in resources--unyielding demo mailings, lots of publicity "people," stunts--and time. And now The Stranger has proven that the squeaky wheel gets the oil. KATHLEEN WILSON

DARREN EMERSON
(Last Supper Club) Last year, just months after leaving Underworld, deck master Darren Emerson cut a remix album for the Boxed Global Underground series, Global Underground: Uruguay. His ability to breathe new life into a set of acid-techno tracks should come as no real surprise, considering he's remixed cuts for the likes of Björk and the Chemical Brothers, among many others. Emerson is back at it on Global Underground: 020 Singapore, a wide-ranging double-disc set inspired by his performance at Singapore's club Zouk on New Year's Eve. This time out, he slices and dices an eclectic mix of tunes, artfully blending them into a seamless dance-floor workout. Tech-house classic "Hablando," from Ramirez, for instance, pumps alongside the industrial anthem "Join the Chant," by the Belgium New-Beat gurus of Nitzer Ebb, while electro, techno, and old-skool breaks make appearances as well. No doubt Emerson will tweak these tunes as the mood dictates tonight. JOHN FERRI

ENGLISH BEAT, GRAND HOTEL
(Ballard Firehouse) To anyone who attended the Dave Wakeling show of three months ago at my behest: SORRY. I was there, and there'd been a lot of changes in Wakeling's act since last I saw him, and none were for the better. The poor set at Graceland featured slowed tempos and a fake Ranking Roger that was nothing short of embarrassing for all concerned. And the crowd, well--let me just say that mod doesn't age well in America! I dubbed the evening "The Ghost of Asses Past," and wished silently that I had worn a skirt. KATHLEEN WILSON

LYLE LOVETT & HIS LARGE BAND
(Pier 62/63) As the continuation of the legacy of great Texas singer-songwriters, Lyle Lovett has created an eclectic body of work. He has used country music in its broadest sense to springboard into honky-tonk, gospel, swing, folk, and bluesy rock. That's all on one album--the superbly titled Joshua Judges Ruth. In the decade since then he has continued to branch out, becoming a peripheral celebrity by marrying and divorcing that movie star and acting creepy in Robert Altman movies. More importantly, Lovett's music has continued to mix emotionalism and irony against a variety of musical styles, including R&B and swing jazz. On 1998's Step Inside This House, he paid homage to the Texas songwriters who have acted as his mentors, displaying some of the hand he plays so close to his vest. Like Townes Van Zandt, Guy Clark, and the Lubbock Holy Trinity of Jimmie Dale Gilmore, Butch Hancock, and Joe Ely, Lovett is a consummate songwriter and a true original, stealthily pushing the perimeters of country with great songs. Between his dry-witted patter and stop-on-a-dime musical chops, Lovett always delivers a spectacular show. NATE LIPPENS

ALEJANDRO ESCOVEDO, RICHMOND FONTAINE
(Tractor Tavern) See preview this issue.

NEIL HAMBURGER, PLEASEEASAUR
(Graceland) Looking back at the history of low-rent standup comedy, two things are abundantly clear: it's incredibly grueling work, and it most definitely has a depressing, dark side. The lifestyle of traveling cross-country, living out of cheap roadside motels, getting paid dick, and performing for nicotine-saturated, alcoholic rooms (where most audiences aren't going to find anything amusing) often takes comedians to an early grave (see Lenny Bruce, et al.). How fucking brilliant, then, that Neil Hamburger has chosen this fetid reality to lampoon. He's nerdy, greasy, a little bit pudgy, and decidedly NOT funny. He swills bad tropical cocktails and rattles off every light-bulb screwing, guy-walks-into-a-bar un-witticism you can imagine. The delivery and material are so cringeworthy that audiences are deliciously uncomfortable and the whole shtick becomes a disorienting study in how painful bad comedy can be, both for the audience and the performer. Hamburger's idiotically draped intelligence got him signed to indie label Drag City and has put him on tour with everyone from Trans Am to Mr Bungle. Do make an effort to catch him here with Pleaseeasaur, as he's decided to move back to Australia and may not be out again for quite some time. HANNAH LEVIN

THE NEARLY DEADS, THE TRIGGERS, THE HEROIC TRIO, THE STINK BUGS
(Gibson's) Comprising former members of legendary Northwest bands Some Velvet Sidewalk and Juned, the Heroic Trio plays discordant pop rock that is heady without being heavy. That's quite an accomplishment, one that involves subtle skill, and this band should be required study material for less-centered local acts. KATHLEEN WILSON

CAPITOL HILL BLOCK PARTY
(11th & Pine) See pullout this issue.

BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB, THE TURN-ONS, THE STANDARD
(Crocodile) See preview this issue.

MARY CHAPIN CARPENTER, STEVE EARLE & THE DUKES
(Pier 62/63) Recovery has been good to Steve Earle. All ablaze in his own post-smack renaissance, his bad-boy neurons firing a fierce double time, the guy who once penned the AOR hit "Copperhead Road" only to drop off the mainstream radar is right now engaged in some wildly prolific art-making and hell-raising: His blues are still transcendental, sure, but he's also just released a book of autobiographical junkie short fiction, he stumps vigorously against the statutory barbarism of the death penalty, he goofs on poetry, tours all the time, and--as recently revealed in an interview on NPR--he's also writing a play, for Christ's sake. The live shows are exhilarating; Earle and his band, like a populist version of Crazy Horse, blast away in a raw, intimate, gruffly honest kind of amped-up hootenanny. Earle's nasally growl, stomping rhythms, and terse, naturalistic lyrics are simultaneously disarming and seductive, like poison and antidote in the same cup. RICK LEVIN

DIAMOND FIST WERNY, GRAIG MARKEL, SPYGLASS
(Sit & Spin) While Spyglass boasts a frontwoman who's blessed with, among other things, an undeniably great voice, the slick safeness of the band as a whole has little to offer in the "zeal" department. Granted, Spyglass is cohesive and melodic, and again, possessed of a great, if non-emotive, singer. But I've found myself wandering from the showroom every time I've seen the band play live, wishing for risks in the songwriting. KATHLEEN WILSON

ACID KING, SWARMING HORDES, LOST GOAT, MEN OF PORN
(Breakroom) You know that feeling you get when you smoke too much weed and go watch a loud, distorted stoner rock band? The way the guitars press down on you like giant trash compactors? That sense of noise expanded into every inch of breathing space, making you one with the feedback? If you enjoy being inhabited by these kinds of sonic aliens, you're going to love Men of Porn. The San Francisco act centers on guitarist/vocalist Tim Moss (Ritual Device) and his revolving band of distortionists. This time around, that group includes Guy Pinhas (headlining tonight with Acid King, also of Obsessed, Goatsnake) on bass, and Sean Tyler (El Dopa) on drums. In an aggressive assault that mixes elements of the Melvins, the Stooges, and Electric Wizard, the Men of Porn will rock you deep below the floorboards without losing you in artless wankerdom--even if they do have 17-minute-long songs with titles like "Comin' Home (Smoking Pot on a Sunday Afternoon While UFO's Drone Overhead)." JENNIFER MAERZ

THE JELLY ROLLERS, MARC OLSEN
(Tractor Tavern) The core of long-standing blues outfit the Jelly Rollers is composed of guitarist Darren Loucas (of Juke) and harpist Sean Devine, two cornbread traditionalists trapped in a world where the problems of a bunch of deceased Delta twangers don't count for a hill of beans, and where adherence to the crusted-up orthodoxy of classic blues matters even slightly less than that. These two white guys play Americana the old, good way--the way the horn-pricked devil with his moonshine and dotted lines meant it to go, before asswipes like Robert Cray came along to make it safe and sane for the wine-sipping crowds. The Jelly Rollers sing about trains, women, and what it's like to walk down the road feeling bad, and they do it so well and true and simply that it feels sort of timeless. RICK LEVIN

SADE, INDIA.ARIE
(KeyArena) Adults were up to something decadent in 1985, something that involved white linen suits and nosefuls of fine Peruvian cocaine. Well, they were on Miami Vice, anyway. But to a nine-year-old in suburban New Jersey, the sexual soul and R&B of "Smooth Operator" and "Sweetest Taboo" were all the needed proof that people were living the diamond life. Sade was the most exotic woman in my life. Now, more than 15 years later, it is me who is wearing the linen suit and sipping champagne on my boat. I'm listening to Sade's sultry 2000 release, Lovers Rock, and being fed shrimp cocktail. Where did the time go? JASON PAGANO

ANI DiFRANCO
(Snoqualmie Amphitheater) A talented, energetic singer-songwriter whose acclaim came from incessant, high-energy live shows, from chowing muff and spilling the beans about it, and from running a big fat mouth that never ever stops. Someone dragged me to her appearance at last year's Bumbershoot, and I could barely resist the urge to open fire. She must have had every musician in America up on that stage with her, and she ran around like a superstar, all dreadlocked and lovey-dovey, condescendingly touching each and every band member about 175 times like she was their mom or something, and I thought, damn, that bitch is crazy! So crazy, in fact, that she had Prince do backup vocals on a recent album and you could barely hear him over her cat-in-heat howling. Somebody silence this woman. JEFF DeROCHE

KID 606, CEX, STAR AS EYES
(Crocodile) The star of this tour, Venezuelan-born Kid 606, might be popular with fans of like-minded bands such as Autechre, Pole, and Aphex Twin, but his repetitive blasts of noise fail to come off as interesting or inventive as that of his brethren. Formerly recording for Ipecac (the label the Melvins currently call home), Kid 606 now stumps for the eclectic Oakland, CA, label Tigerbeat 6, which has made a name for itself in the electronic-music world with an impressive roster of international artists. KATHLEEN WILSON

CARRIE BIELL, BUSY SIGNALS, POSEUR, LOW SKIES
(Crocodile) For her youth and innocent countenance, Carrie Biell is a surprisingly deft singer-songwriter with strong, concrete lyrics, a sharp focus, and a knack for gentle, graceful hooks. Though I have only had the opportunity to see her without her band, apparently the show is even stronger when she plays with support. If that's the case, then Ms. Biell should offer tonight's audience a thoughtful and most impressive set. JEFF DeROCHE

IDLEWILD, SUNDAY'S BEST
(Graceland) I think Idlewild would have been better served by being less hyped by publicists and Capitol Records. The last time the band came to town, everyone was completely jacked up for the show, as though everyone in the local music community were doing cocaine and freaking out over everything. But do you remember this band? It took me a minute to recall what the music sounds like, which is sad because the band played here within the past year. Then it all started coming back to me: right, those Scottish guys that sound really American. Straightforward, mid-tempo, R.E.M.-meets-Radiohead rock. It's actually good, as I recall, though I eventually sold the CD. Well, it wasn't awful anyway. JEFF DeROCHE

COUNTING CROWS
(Chateau Ste. Michelle) The first record by this band showed promise. And then there was no growth. The hair just got dirtier and the jams started going longer. JEFF DeROCHE

THE EVERLY BROTHERS
(King Cat Theater) If it weren't for the Everly Brothers, we probably wouldn't have the quality of harmony pop that we have in our world (see below). JEFF DeROCHE

INDIGO GIRLS
(Pier 62/63) While Amy Ray made the whole world gush over her 2001 solo outing, Stag, Indigo Girls are still the Indigo Girls, and while that's not the most awful thing in the world--a handful of their songs are actually pretty powerful--most of their music simply chafes. And, most importantly, there's the fact that the band puts on hippie-dippie love shows that even my sweet, joyful mama would flip a jaded middle finger to. No, seriously, she'd be like, "Fuck you, hippie Indigo bitches!" JEFF DeROCHE

Buy Tickets for Other Events