TRUCKER OF THE SEA, HYPATIA LAKE, LOVELESS & THE GOODNIGHT TRAIL
(Sit & Spin) Don't expect the world from Hypatia Lake, a still unpolished local band, but do expect ample creativity. Given its predictable soft-to-hard dynamics and insular frontman who stands stone-still throughout the set, it would be easy to shrug this group off as mere art school/shoegazer trickle-down rock. But no one is actually original anymore, and some bands just appropriate their influences better than others. Black Heart Procession and Slowdive come to mind as prominent influences here. The band attempts to build cathedrals out of reverb and delay, and then fill them up with thick, bass-driven melancholy, winding up with results that are very promising. What's most enjoyable about Hypatia Lake, as I wrote several months back when I saw the band, is that its members are attempting something large and artistic with their project--an exciting quality in a town where so many bands amount to nothing more than derivative punk or garage rehash. JEFF DeROCHE

STARS, LIGHT HEAVYWEIGHT, THE MINES
(Crocodile) All you ever need to hear to understand Stars is their "dance" version of the Smiths' "This Charming Man," from the group's debut LP, Nightsongs. And I know, because I've listened to Nightsongs in its entirety on more than one occasion to figure out why people care about the group. I'm by no means a purist, but this lazy, plinking Pet Shop Boys bullshit is--short of circuit party music--exactly what makes "electronica" seem soulless to legions of intelligent outside observers 10-plus years into the "revolution." Think what you want about the Smiths, but at least they were emotionally invested: When Morrissey was blubbering and sputtering out the lyrics to "This Charming Man" he was feeling something. Stars write sophisticated (read: sterile) Europop (read: vapid ex-New Yorkers making minimalist dance-pop with some French lady whispering occasionally) over which exhausted music critics nationwide have gone positively apeshit. It seems that because the band's overwrought lyrics are sad, the empty, uninspired sounds that Stars make have been deemed "ironic," and therefore "brilliant." Please. Celine Dion has some sad lyrics, and you don't hear anyone with half a brain scrambling to blow up her balloon. JEFF DeROCHE

GAS HUFFER, RC5, DEUCES
(Sit & Spin) Over the course of 13 years, Seattle's Gas Huffer has remained intact with its original, founding members--quite a feat in a city brimming with multipurpose drummers. It's been several years since the four-piece has released a new album, but fans will be elated to hear that Gas Huffer has finished recording a 14-song LP with producer Jack Endino, and that the disc is scheduled to be released on Estrus sometime around mid or late March. A bit of trivia on the upcoming release? Singer Matt plays guitar on all but a couple of songs. KATHLEEN WILSON

DJ GARTH, DJ M3, DJ CHRIS VARGAS
(I-Spy) DJ Garth is slow love. His brand of dance music leans toward steady funk grooves, but is never excited, agitated, or built toward blowout climaxes--common dance themes that too often over-dramatize DJ sets. The mood is warm and soft, and there's just a hint of pop-inflected humor to seal the slow 'n' steady experience as pleasurable. At least this is the way I've heard him on CD, which I confess is the only way I "know him," if you know what I mean. (He could be completely different "in action," if you know what I'm saying.) Garth visits us from San Francisco, where he instigated the "full moon parties" that have become nearly mythological to people at this point in Garth's decade-long career with the Wicked crew. BRIAN GOEDDE

THE BLOOD BROTHERS, AKIMBO, SUFFERING AND THE HIDEOUS THIEVES, MURDERED HOUSEWIVES
(Ground Zero) Tolerance for theatricality and on-stage drama is a must when considering whether or not you're up for seeing Suffering and the Hideous Thieves live. On disc, the 10-plus-member ensemble provides plenty of howling anguish and picturesque instrumentation, as singer Jeff Suffering demonstrates the verb from which his name springs, contemplating the most gut-wrenching aspects of a torrid, shattered relationship. In the live realm, Suffering acts out his pain by contorting in bent, spastic emotion until, eventually, he spends the good part of the last half of the show rolling around on his back. It's certainly something to see once, if only just to have done so--especially if you're a Nick Cave fan (there is a bit to be compared between the two singers). If you embarrass easily or cringe at the thought of a guy on stage wracked with emotion, having no qualms about letting it all hang out, then this is a band you might check out on disc only. KATHLEEN WILSON

WAYNE HORVITZ: MUSIC FOR MORNING
(EMP) I'm actually not all that blown away by Wayne Horvitz. I know he's played with blah blah blah in the downtown New York scene (blah blah blah), and is Seattle's jazz gem. As a pianist and composer he is sharp and interesting, just not all that moving. But to his credit, he knows exactly where he's at: His is Music for Morning, not for the emotional witching hours of the night, but the bright, clear cup of strong coffee first thing in the a.m. Horvitz never takes his jazz to the limits of reason, or faith, or knowledge, as one would do at night. He is always in a comfortable promise of another day, with his newspaper and glass of orange juice. Music for Morning also includes guitarist Bill Frisell, trumpeter Ron Miles, drummer Joey Baron, and cellist Peggy Lee. BRIAN GOEDDE

SUNSET VALLEY, THE JON HYDE BAND, THE LAWNMOWERS
(Sunset) Portland band Sunset Valley, led by a handsome, squawky-voiced (in a good way) frontman with the season's-greetings name of Herman Jolly, seems to be something of a polarizer. Either SV is right up your stinkin' alley or on your shit list. I lost my shit list in my stinkin' alley, so I'm looking to start a new one (best straighten up Gates!), but with SV's knack for writing near perfect power-pop psychedelia/frenetic guitar rock, there's not much chance it'll be happening at this show. Touring in support of its third (and best) release, Icepond, the band will take the stage a few hundred pounds leaner--having moved from a quintet to a power trio--to deliver a somewhat slower, more intelligent, and, if such a thing is possible, more catchy sound. But don't let that keep you rock rowdies away, as SV will surely still play the hits. And hits it has, including the new-wave anthem "I Got Fair" and the soaring Monkees-in-space jam "City of Bees." JOSH UHLIR

DUB NARCOTIC SOUND SYSTEM, THE MICROPHONES, YUME BITSU, HOT HOT HEAT
(I-Spy) See preview this issue.

LIMP BIZKIT GUITARIST SEARCH
(Guitar Center) Yes, it's true! The most terrible (but critic-proof) band in the USA is looking for a guitarist to replace Wes Borland, who left a few months ago. Think of the ladies, the parties, the society you'll keep! You could be the one! But don't just show up with your guitar and repertoire of licks, because first there will be a "meet and greet" session, from 11 a.m. to 9 p.m. Out of the 500 million Bizkit wannabes, they'll pick only a handful who they think look the part. You could be the Bizkit-iest guitarist on Earth, but they won't care unless you first show how you already dress, talk, walk, run, smile, and growl like them. What do I recommend? Go as a Fred Durst impersonator! Demonstrate your dedication by dressing and acting exactly like the barking Bizkit frontman. When you meet Durst or anyone else representing Bizkit, repeat exactly what they say and move exactly how they move, as if you were a living mirror. Second idea: Go as a super-thugged-out hiphop superstar, gold teeth, phat chains, full-body FUBU suit and all. Bizkit's rock-rap collision is really a rocker's desire to be "down," you know what I'm saying, so if you go as a rap thug they'll want to be "down" with you. BRIAN GOEDDE

LIAM GALLAGHER
(Kells) The Stranger has, on more than one occasion, received phone calls and e-mails asking if this performer is, in fact, the Liam Gallagher--you know, one of the two main dipshits from Oasis. I thought I would use this opportunity to tell you two things: First, mercifully, the Gallagher in question is not one of the two main dipshits from Oasis, but a regular guitar-slinging Irish guy who performs at Kells all the time. Second, if you're looking for a silly way to spend a night pounding beers and listening to goofy pub songs from the homeland, you might want to consider his act. I took my visiting older brother once, and he couldn't get enough. He got wasted and bought a Kells shirt, and every time I go back East he blathers on and on about how "fucking great Irish bars are!" and how he wishes there were "some good fucking Irish pubs in New Hampshire." Gallagher may not be a member of Oasis, but he's a jolly sort of guy, and a good excuse to get obscenely drunk, make an ass out of yourself, and romanticize the occasion until your dying day. Just ask my brother. JEFF DeROCHE

McCOY TYNER
(Jazz Alley) See Stranger Suggests.

PRINCESS SUPERSTAR, NAHA, TEAM FRESH, DJ CUDDLEUP
(Crocodile) See preview this issue.

FREEDY JOHNSTON
(Tractor) Freedy Johnston's songs are populated by the kinds of Midwesterners that Sherwood Anderson wrote about half a century ago, which is not to say that his songs are retro, or that people haven't changed in the region. It's simply that quiet desperation and deferred dreams still take shape in the same ways. Johnston long ago sold the family farm in Kansas and headed to New York City, but as his latest album Right Between the Promises demonstrates, he still draws inspiration from the wellspring of his daydreaming adolescence there. The folk-rock inflections and plaintive voice are all perfectly in place on the new album, and Johnston's songwriting is ripe with gentle, serpentine melodies and sharply observed human nature. He turns in a lovely cover of Edison Lighthouse's 1970 hit "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" but it's with his own compositions that the album soars to the heights of his 1994 breakthrough, This Perfect World. On "Arriving on a Train" a man dreams of a more thrilling life and is pulled back by constant reminders of the mundane everyday. It's existential dread faced down with a shrug and a tight-lipped resolve. It's classic Johnston: capturing the familiar in close-up and making it bigger if just for a moment. NATE LIPPENS

PINK MARTINI
(Showbox) With its combination of foreign film soundtracks, classical chamber music, and kitsch, Pink Martini makes for an evening that's quite unlike anything you're likely to experience outside of Benaroya Hall. Part cabaret and part social club, this large ensemble has been invited to play at gubernatorial balls, Cannes Film Festival soirees, and countless other events requiring musical entertainment that's distinctively highbrow, yet still a roaring good time. (If you watch reruns of the WB's Clueless you can hear vocalist China Forbes--yes, of those Forbes--singing the theme.) Perhaps you opted to stay in on New Year's Eve and now you're itching for a good reason to get gussied and go out on the town. If so, Pink Martini is your inspiration. KATHLEEN WILSON

HANDSOME FAMILY, WILLARD GRANT CONSPIRACY
(Tractor) See Stranger Suggests.

FIREBALLS OF FREEDOM, FEDERATION Z, THE FLESHIES, THE CHEAPS
(Graceland) There's a difference between stoopid punk rock and punks with better things to do than play politics. The Fleshies are the latter of the two, and the Bay Area act pops off more times than a hot-tempered kid with Tourette's. The group's lyrical targets ignore conventional battering rams though (although the Fleshies can't help but knock the cops) and instead mix fuzzy memories (muscle-relaxant accidents in Miami) with panicked fits over meatballs. It's a miracle that frontman Johnny what's-his-last-name-this-week hasn't snapped his last vocal cord with the force he uses screaming, but he's got a three-man band from the delinquent Ramones-bloody-AC/DC camp to help keep the intensity cranked high. JENNIFER MAERZ